


Wayne's Boys 1: Black and Red

by KatHarkness_Katara



Series: Wayne's Boys [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Dimension Travel, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 59,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5052220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatHarkness_Katara/pseuds/KatHarkness_Katara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red Robin is caught in an explosion and finds himself in Gotham - but not his Gotham. What does he do now? Prequel to Family Ties. No slash, rated for language and violent themes in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bat's Away, Bird Can't Play

**Author's Note:**

> This is set shortly after Batman: The Dark Knight. Batman hasn't been seen since the death of Harvey Dent, and the Dent act is still in the process of being passed. Bruce Wayne is still a public figure as CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Gordon is Commissioner of the GCPD, but his wife hasn't left yet.
> 
> This is part of my Wayne's Boys series. On that side, it's about a month before the first chapter of Family Ties. The familial relationships stand as follows: Bruce/Batman has returned to his position in Gotham, Dick has gone back to being Nightwing, Jason/Red Hood has come home, Damian is Robin, Barbara/Batgirl has regained mobility following surgery and is dating Dick, Stephanie/Spoiler gave up Batgirl for Barbara and is dating Tim, and Cassandra/Black Bat is spending some time away in Hong Kong. Tim/Red Robin is spending his summer half in Gotham with his family, and half in San Francisco with the Teen Titans.

**Black and Red Chapter 1: Bat's Away, Bird Can't Play**

Red Robin was falling, down, down, down. It was too narrow to spread his wings, his grapple too far from his fingers, and so he grasped at the protruding fire escapes. After failing to keep hold of three, he finally arrested his descent, wrenching his shoulders as he hung off one steel railing, waiting a moment before dropping the remaining dozen feet to the ground.

Right into a group of angry armed thugs.

He went straight into a combat stance, watching the somewhat bewildered petty baddies for the merest moment as three thugs brought the barrels of their guns to bear, and two others flicked out switchblades. His right hand dived into his belt for his staff, the left pulling out one batarang after another, deftly flicking them into the men's gun-hands while his staff swished left, then right, knocking down the knife men. Using the staff as a pole, he vaulted over the disarmed thugs, kicked their feet from under them from behind, and put them out for the count. A quick glance assessed his opponents as completely unconscious, and no further threats nearby.

Red Robin relaxed slightly, the immediate danger over. He glanced around, taking stock. Somehow, the explosion had thrown him to a different part of San Francisco, some sort of teleport? The nausea coiled in his stomach certainly backed it up. Resting a hand against the alley wall, he massaged his brow beneath his mask, a blinding headache joining the list of symptoms.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps. At the end of the passage, two uniformed cops appeared, obviously following the sound of the scuffle. A small smile coming automatically to his lips as he noticed the GCPD patches on their uniforms (all the way home to Gotham? Could be worse…), he started to slip peacefully into the shadows.

His smile vanished into wide-eyed shock as the policemen drew their sidearms on him, not reacting fast enough to avoid the first bullet sinking into his side, merely slowed by the layers of Kevlar and smart polymers. He dropped, dodging the next, and sprang up, hopping from one landing to the next on the fire escape he so recently fell past. He heard the cops running up the metal staircases, coming for him. _'What the hell happened?'_ he thought.

Eventually he made it to the roof, running to the edge as his pursuers burst onto the roof behind him. "Freeze!" one yelled. Red Robin turned, keeping his balance on the verge as he faced the men. "You another Bat-wannabe, huh?" the man asked. "We're not taking any copies of that freak, and, well, we'll get him eventually. And you? You're under arrest for suspicion of involvement in the murder of Harvey Dent."

The older of the cops had been advancing all the time his partner spoke, but when the last sentence sounded, Red Robin pivoted and threw himself off the edge of the twelve storey building. He flung his arms out, activating the wings, and flew up. He heard the cops cursing, and another bullet thudded into his shoulder from behind. He lost control for a moment, his arm curling in and unbalancing the wings before he straightened out again, resisting the pain.

He continued up, trying to get his bearings. There was Wayne Tower; but if "the Bat" was wanted for Dent's murder (had Two-Face gone too far? Or was it an accident?), then going to his doorstep while possibly being followed would not be appreciated. He checked his comm, finding only static. The journey had wrecked it. But he really needed somewhere safe to retreat and treat his injuries. There didn't seem to be anywhere he could go without risking his family until he knew his tail was shaken.

His eyes picked out another landmark: the GCPD headquarters. He tilted his wings, descending towards it. He could summon aid from there, and then find out what happened since he was last in Gotham, only two days ago.

He drifted down, landing lightly despite the wounds in his side and shoulder. He stepped over to the signal, and was bending to switch it on, when he noticed what was wrong.

The signal had been smashed in, the glass shattered and the black bat in fragments. "What happened?" Red Robin murmured, dropping to his knees. He picked up some of the pieces, trying to see how they fit together, wondering if he could repair it. The bulb seemed intact, but the screen, to shine the illumination, was broken beyond his means to repair. Perhaps he could improvise something?

He heard footsteps behind him, and rose, turning. "Commissioner Gordon?" he said quietly, hoping his friend wouldn't prove a foe. "Sir, what happened?"

Gordon didn't answer. Red Robin felt another twinge in his side, the bullet shifting inside him. He bit back a wince, putting a hand to check how much fresh blood was flowing. Gordon noticed the action. "You hurt, young man?" he said gruffly.

"Just a few bullets," Red Robin muttered, embarrassed at showing weakness in front of Gordon, and slightly irritated that it was his men that had caused the injuries.

"Bullets?" Gordon seemed…unusually concerned. "You pick those up working with Batman or something?"

"Of course I work with Batman. How long have you known me, Gordon?"

"First time I've seen you, son."

"What?" Red Robin stared at him, not bothering to hide his shock. "But how?" He thought back, quickly evaluating the last few hours, from leaving the Tower to reaching the GCPD Headquarters. "The teleporter," he muttered to himself. "Time? No, the signal was unplugged once or twice, but never smashed. Dimensional? Must have been. Great."

"Son, what are you on about?" Gordon clearly hadn't followed him.

"Okay, this is gonna sound pretty crazy…" he started. "But near as I can guess, I've managed to travel between dimensions. Back home, I'm a partner of Batman, have been for several years. My name's Red Robin."

Gordon nodded. "This isn't the best place for someone claiming allegiance with Batman. I won't tell anyone you were here, but you might want to leave."

Red Robin bit his lip, trying to think. It would be easy if he saw Batman; he'd easily be able to tell if he really was Bruce. It didn't sit right to just show up at the tower or the manor, especially if it turned out Batman's identity wasn't constant. He needed to get more information first. A library?

Gordon picked up on the uncertainty the boy was showing. "You don't have anywhere to go, do you?" he murmured.

Red Robin looked up, quickly shook his head, and looked away. The bullet wounds still hurt like hell, his stomach was still doing backflips and head pounding from the transport, even his shoulders burned from slowing his earlier tumble. He desperately wanted to go home, either to his scarcely used Gotham city apartment, his room in Titans Tower or Wayne Manor. But he couldn't…

Gordon narrowed his eyes. Reading the emotion in his stance, he seemed to be pitying him, and concerned, and worried, but for more than just a wounded vigilante boy. Probably his men. "My office is on the top floor. Window's over there." He gestured to a patch of the roof. "I'll open it in a few minutes. We'll see what we can do."

"Thank you," Red Robin said, watching as Gordon re-entered the building. He prepped his grapple, and waited for his entrance to open.

' _What do I do now?'_ he thought, acutely aware how far he was from home.


	2. Revealing More Than Is Desired

**Black and Red Chapter 2: Revealing More Than Is Desired**

Jim Gordon watched the teenage boy, his emotional response flipping from disbelief that a child would work with the Bat, to fear that the boy's presence in his office would hurt either his men or the kid himself, to amazement that he could just sit there quietly after apparently being thrown from another world, and then digging around in his own side with a pair of tweezers to pull out a bullet.

"Might be easier if you took your shirt off," Gordon suggested gently. The boy's hand froze, then he removed the tweezers and dropped them into the med kit he'd taken from his belt.

"Don't make any comments," he whispered, before systematically removing the straps on his wing, the thin utility straps on his upper arms and his gloves. He fiddled with his collar for a moment, then pulled open his shirt and slipped it off.

Gordon hissed slightly, restraining himself from disregarding Red Robin's request and giving the boy an earful. He'd thought maybe he had some tattoos that he didn't want to be identified from. He wore a simple chain with some little trinkets hanging from it, true, but that clearly wasn't what he was referring to. Instead, his arms and torso were criss-crossed with scars, some standing out clearly, others much easier to miss. More worrying, the hole in his side was joined by a thick smear of blood over the back of his left shoulder blade.

The masked eyes looked at him, so different from the Bat's cowl. A faint smirk flitted over the youngster's lips. "Yeah, I've taken a hit or two," he said ruefully. "Couple o' bullets isn't much." He picked up the tweezers again, and quickly pulled the bullet out of his side. He glanced around, then nodded at a metal waste bin. "Using that?" he asked.

Gordon shook his head, and Red tossed the bullet in before grabbing a wad of material and bottle of antiseptic from his med kit. "How'd you get them all?" Gordon asked.

"They accumulate. Bullet I didn't quite dodge here, knife past my defences there, a few bombs, Croc, some hyenas, bit of acid. It all adds up." He finished disinfecting the wound, tossed the wad into the bin after the bullet, and threaded a needle.

"And you just patch yourself up every time?"

Another quick half-smile. "No, normally I have a little help. Guy I know who trained in combat medicine." Gordon almost asked for more information, but Red cut him off. "It's not like we can just pop into hospital every other day with a few fresh lacerations. Seriously. We've had enough problems with Child Protection just from what our teachers see."

"'Our'? There's more than one kid running around after Batman?" Gordon stared at him, shocked beyond words. What kind of Gotham was this kid from, if they had children working for their Bat? One, an aberration, that he could see, but _more_?

The boy grimaced; either from the pain of tying off his stitches or from his slip-up. He slapped a gauze patch on and wrapped a bandage around his middle before answering. "Yeah, there's several of us." He picked up the tweezers again, and craned his head round to look at the hole in his shoulder. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse.

"Let me," Gordon said, moving around his desk and taking the tweezers. The kid flexed his arm, pulling the muscle taut and allowing him to see the bullet nestled beneath a few layers of skin and flesh. "How'd you get shot?"

"I think you'll find out soon enough." The bullet out, Red passed a fresh piece of anti-septic soaked material, not even gasping as Gordon's inexperienced hand pressed what must have been too hard. "My turn now. How many people like Batman are there in this world?"

"Well, depends on what you mean by 'like Batman'. There's no-one else I'd consider to be on our side. Mind you, even Batman isn't supposed to be on our side any more. But there's this other guy, Joker, who's got the same flair for dramatics, except he just seems to like killing."

"I know Joker." The boy's voice was stiff and steely. It didn't take a genius to guess that he'd had trouble with the Joker of his world. "Would you mind suturing that? Thanks. Anyone like Joker?"

"There was Jonathan Crane. He went insane, started dressing as a scarecrow and using-"

"A gas that provoked great fear in his victims."

"Run into that?"

"Several times. Not fun. What does your Crane's gas do? Hallucinations?"

"Not really. Apparently it distorts reality and induces a panic attack."

Red winced. "Actually, that sounds like one of his milder brews."

They stayed silent as Gordon finished the stitches, wrapped the wound as the kid had done to his side, and wiped the blood off his fingers. Red pulled his shirt back on, slid the med kit back into its pouch on his belt and cleaned the sticky red coating from his gloves and shirt. "Where are Joker and Scarecrow now?" he asked, gathering the remaining evidence of his patching-up into the waste bin.

"Well, Crane's completely insane. Can barely remember his own name most days. He's in a secure facility. If he ever regains his sanity, he'll be tried to determine if he was culpable for his actions, but the psychiatrist doesn't think that'll be any time soon. Joker's also locked up. We can't identify him, can't work out if he's insane or not, can't work out if he's even aware of his current situation. Until we do, we can't really give him a fair trial."

"Hmm." Red finished strapping his equipment back in place, picked up the waste bin, and put it on the fire escape outside the window. He pulled a small pellet from his right arm strap and dropped it into the bin. A sudden flare of flames appeared, and quickly died down again, leaving the bin smoking. "What's the facility called?" he asked.

"Arkham Asylum." Gordon was about to ask what the boy knew of Joker and Scarecrow, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. The kid quickly flipped out the window and vanished, a slender red and black clad arm pulling it shut behind him. "Come in," Gordon said.

Two low-rank officers, Pike and Thorpe came in. "Sir," the older, Thorpe, said. "This evening we noticed a disturbance while patrolling. Upon investigation, it transpired that five gangbangers had been taken down by a masked individual. This individual was still on the scene. He appeared to be in league with the Batman. We attempted to take him in for questioning, but he fled the scene."

Suspicion started to grow in Gordon's mind. "What did this individual look like?" he asked.

"Male, early to mid-teens," Pike said. "Wore red and black, yellow chest harness, grey belt, sort of wings on his back. Domino mask, no cowl. Black hair."

Now almost certain he knew how his guest got the bullet wounds, Gordon asked, "How did you attempt to take him in for questioning?"

"Well." Thorpe looked rather shifty. "We've been advised to use maximum force to bring in the Bat, so we fired a few warning shots. The suspect escaped to the roof, and when we tried to corner him, he jumped off and sort of flew. We fired a few more warning shots, but he got away."

"I see." There was no way to prove that the so-called "warning shots" _hadn't_ missed, but he'd heard the grumblings from below about how much they hated Batman. "How long ago was this?"

"Uh, maybe half an hour? We tried to find him, but we couldn't."

"Do you have any proof that the suspect was involved in the Dent murder?"

Pike shrugged. "He looked like an imitator, but with the equipment he's packing, I'd say he's with the Bat. The Dent murder's probably best to get him in for questioning."

Gordon sighed, unable to upbraid his over-zealous underlings without revealing his new friend. "Very well. I expect a full report in the morning." The cops nodded, and filed out.

As the door closed behind them, the faintest of rattles came from the window. Gordon turned to find it once again slid up and open, and Red Robin standing inside.

"The Dent murder," he said. "Tell me everything. I need to know."

Gordon gestured to the seat opposite, and sighed. It was fair request, given the circumstances. "Harvey Dent was the DA. The three of us were working together; me, Dent, the Bat. Then Joker showed up. Dent ended up badly injured, half his face burnt off and his girlfriend dead. Joker attacked the hospital he was in, and the next thing we have on record, he was dead. Snapped neck. Batman was seen running from the scene. Dent died a hero, Batman the villain. We're passing an act in Dent's honor to crack down on all forms of crime. And the signal on the roof…"

"Is smashed. I saw." Red Robin leaned back in the chair, his hidden eyes strangely piercing. "What really happened?"

Gordon sighed again. The boy was too perceptive. Or maybe he had known the Dent of his world. "Dent went mad. Started calling himself Two-Face. Dispensing life and death at the toss of a coin. He had my family; my wife, my girl, my little boy. He decided that since I couldn't save his family, he'd let chance decide the fate of mine. Batman stopped him, but he died. Then we blamed it on him, so Dent could be remembered as a hero."

"I see." Red's voice was totally emotionless. Impossible to tell what he was thinking. Impossible to tell if he blamed Gordon for the over-zealous cops.

"But do you understand? Dent was the best of us. If it became known what he did, the dozens of crooks he put away would have been let out. But glorifying the monster who tried to kill my family…"

"Is one of the hardest thing you could imagine doing. I can tell. And yes, I understand."

"You knew Dent? Did it…go badly for you too?"

"Could say that." Another wisp of a smile. "He's given me a few of those scars. See, he survived the clash with Batman, and ended up in Arkham."

"After he wounded you?"

"And before. Arkham Asylum's supposed to be the most secure place on the planet, but it's one of the most dangerous outside the mouth of an erupting volcano. And, of course, it has the most efficient revolving door in Gotham." He sounded bitter. No wonder, if Dent had hurt him after escaping.

"Are you telling me Arkham isn't secure?" Gordon asked, dreading trying to find somewhere better to put Joker.

"I'm not really sure." He looked a little sheepish. "Our Arkham is pretty full. Full of the most dangerous loons and crazies you could imagine. If yours has only a few, you might get away with it, if you're careful."

"I'll take that under advisement." He sighed, feeling like he'd been doing a lot of that in the last hour. If any more like Joker, Dent and Crane turned up, they might have to get a new facility. If someone could secure the funds. "Anything else you wanted?"

"Do you have any photographs, any video, of Batman?"

"Some. I'd have to fetch it. Why do you want it?"

"Let's call it a hunch."

Gordon wondered what kind of hunch would need pictures of the Bat, but hurried off anyway. He was really feeling sorry for the boy. If the scars hadn't been enough to convince him the lad had difficulties, the bit about Arkham was. The words had shocked him, but it was more the fact he'd said it straight out, as though everyone knew about it. And now it seemed painfully obvious just how different the worlds were. The kid had nowhere to turn; not while his partner was wanted for murder.

When he got back with the pictures, he saw Red Robin had slipped around the desk and was engrossed with something on the computer. Something he appeared to close abruptly when Gordon stepped through the door. He rose, taking the sheaf of papers and nodding his thanks. He flipped through them, nodded to himself and murmured, "Yeah, it's him alright."

"You can tell who that is?!"

Another sheepish look. "I'm used to it. You know, working with him for years. We just know each other."

Gordon noticed that the kid kept referring absently to his past (and exactly how young had he been when he started?) with Batman, his and others'. Red Robin couldn't even tell, until it was picked up on. Probably best leave the matter alone. "What were you doing on the computer?"

"Looking up a few things."

"Like what?"

Red sighed. "I was tracking down my counterpart. Turns out that's another difference."

"You don't exist in this world?"

"I do." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even more ruffled. "It's just I'm three years old. Bit awkward."

"Hmm." Gordon watched the teen carefully, an idea forming in his mind. "Just how old are you, son? If I had to guess I'd say thirteen."

"Fourteen, actually. I'm just small for my age. Always have been."

"And you don't have anywhere to go?"

"I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

"You're still a child."

The boy seemed completely taken aback by the sudden line of questioning. "What are you proposing? Send me to some children's home until I can find a way back to my own reality?"

"No. Something tells me that would be a very bad idea." A slight twitch gave the impression one unseen eyebrow was being raised. "You said your counterpart is a toddler. So you don't really need to hide your face. I'm guessing you can come up with a name other than 'Red Robin', even if it's not the one on your birth certificate. And I think the wife would be fine with me bringing home a houseguest. She's always saying I don't have any contact with the normal people anymore."

Red stared at him, completely blank. Considering. Then he reached up and peeled of the mask from his face, revealing clear sky-blue eyes. "Rob Jackson. Thanks. You have no idea how glad I am right now."


	3. Meditations

**Black and Red Chapter Three Meditations**

Tim sat cross-legged on the bed, meditating. While he was sore and disorientated, it was still too early for bed, scarcely midnight. Instead, he carefully dissected and analysed the apparent differences between worlds.

The Gordons. In his world, Barbara Senior had left the Commissioner, taking Jim Junior, before the adoption of Babs, the Commissioner's niece by birth. Here, both Babs and Jim Junior were being raised by both Gordons. Although, from Barbara Senior's body language and suppressed irritation, there may be storm in their marriage coming.

Babs seemed…exactly like Dick had described her at this age. Sharp, seemingly quiet, but with a hidden fire. If Tim had to guess, her brush with Two-Face (Dent, whoever) had not so much terrified her as thrilled her. But no-one else seemed to realise that, she'd been keeping quiet, yet still unable to suppress the signs of having felt truly alive when faced with death. Tim could read it easily; after all, they all experienced that kind of thrill to one degree or another, and Babs back home more than most. This Babs had the same nature.

It would be interesting to see how she'd turn out with a little training. Warming her up with a little gymnastics and acrobatics, then perhaps moving her onto some basic martial arts moves. Suggesting classes might work, but none of the Bats practised any sort of pure martial arts. The mixed style, borrowing from everything, was so much safer and more efficient. But it would be a good start, teach her the basics…

No, that wouldn't be fair, shaping her life without explaining why; and just because she _could_ be as excellent as Batgirl didn't mean she _should_ be.

On the other hand, having an _Oracle_ would be useful if he was stuck for some time. And less potentially destructive than Batgirl.

Little Babs could be most useful.

Tim caught himself; he was thinking of people as tools again. Bruce had been accused of it a time or two, and now he could see how easy it was, especially when he was used to thinking of them as allies he could call on at need.

He thought of his own Batman, Bruce. They'd had an argument a few days ago, a stupid, meaningless disagreement. Damian had caught a stomach bug, and so Bruce had called Tim in to take the younger boy's place in a stakeout. Tim had been forced to delay going across country to Titan Tower in San Francisco by six hours. In that time, a gang had gone on a robbery spree in the jewellery district, stealing millions of dollars of goods and causing tens of thousands in property damage. When the Titans engaged them, it transpired they were very well-prepared, and got away, leaving Wonder Girl tracking them until she lost them, and Superboy using his TTK to hold Kid Flash's broken leg in place until his super-fast healing fixed it. Worried for his teammates, Tim had ended up yelling at Bruce that he didn't care for anything outside his own bubble. Bruce had got coldly furious, saying that it wasn't _his_ fault the Titans couldn't cope with street-crime on their own.

It had ended when Tim just grabbed his bag and left, teleporting to the Tower. Now he was feeling guilty, because it _was_ a fairly stupid argument, prompted more by frustration than anything else. And if he couldn't get home and apologise, he'd regret it.

No. Focus. He _would_ find some way home.

Bruce. Could this world's Batman help him? _Would_ he? If his Bruce was faced by some teen claiming to be his partner from another world, his paranoia would come to the fore. Nothing would get done until Bruce was sure the interloper wasn't a threat. There was no reason to suspect this Bruce wouldn't be different.

He could try accessing WayneTech's records, see what he could find in the R&D department. Try finding a solution on his own. He knew more about the theory of interworld travel than some, and maybe with a bit of hacking could get the company's people running some variance tests on background radiation and some other non-constants.

Bruce might pick up on that. Hmm.

But how similar _was_ this Batman? He seemed to have quit after the Dent/Two-Face thing. His Bruce would never give up. How had this Bat been pushed away from the Mission? More research would be needed. Probably before he plundered WE's databases. Starting with the gossip/news sources. If the media had noted a change in Bruce Wayne's life dating from the same time as the incident with Dent, that might explain it. The lives of 'Bruce Wayne' and 'Batman' were more interlinked than many in their community would realise; reading between the lines of news reports of Brucie's 'accidents' could give quite an insight into the stresses of the night life.

But how many…incidents…in the Wayne family back home never made it to the media; or else were twisted beyond recognition?

A sigh escaped his lips, the downward movement of his ribcage tugging at the stitched wound on his shoulder. He bit his lip at the flair of pain, and pushed it aside, sinking back into the trance-like state.

Consulting Bruce would have to wait; his probable paranoia and obvious personal issues would make working with him difficult and potentially dangerous.

So what would be his next move? What was his position now? The Commissioner had told his wife Tim was waiting to go into witness protection, and so details of his life were not open for discussion. He would probably be following Gordon to work the next day, and that could at least provide some entertainment in cribbing files and borrowing the computer to get some research.

But exactly what would he need to research; in what order of priority?

First, the formal reports for the incidents with Scarecrow, Joker and Two-Face. The file on Batman. And if he could get on the computer, what Bruce Wayne had been up to. Tomorrow night, he could slip out, break into the library and continue his research.

Should he try and find his brothers? It was tempting; so very tempting. With the age difference between the worlds, Dick would probably still be with the circus, and Haly's might be approaching their Gotham run. But if they'd already been through town, and lost their star act…

No, he'd rather not know. This wasn't a chance to do things over; this wasn't similar enough for that. It would just lead to heartbreak. If he knew where his family were, he would be so hard-pressed to interfere, and if he did, without a thorough understanding of the consequences…

This wasn't his world to interfere with.

He rose from his meditation, breathing unnaturally heavily. The thought of finding Dick dead with his parents, Jason left on the streets to fall into thievery and drug addiction, Cass running from the League of Assassins for the rest of her life, Damian never born (well, _that_ one didn't seem so bad), Steph never having the opportunity to be more than a petty thief's daughter…

He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to know.

He pulled out his staff, and settled into a ready stance. Feeling the pull on strained muscles and the pair of bullet wounds, he flowed from form to form, going through routines, silent as a shadow.

He'd need all his training just to stay sane until he could find a way home.


	4. Comparative Sociology

**Black and Red Chapter 4 Comparative Sociology**

When James Gordon reached his office in the GCPD HQ, the slight teen was already waiting for him, leaning against the metal fire escape, expression unreadable. He'd taken to the roofs a few blocks ago; it wouldn't do for the Police Commissioner to arrive with some boy with him. Gordon unlocked the window and slid it open, allowing him entry. Rob climbed through gracefully and padded over to the guest chair he'd patched himself up in last night. Gordon slid a thick file of papers over to him. "The Batman file," he explained. He gestured to several others sat on the desk. "Those are for Crane and Joker. We don't have one for Dent."

Rob nodded. "And those?" he asked, pointing to another stack.

"Those are mine. Just cold cases we distribute when it gets quiet. Don't worry about them," Gordon shrugged.

Rob nodded, opened the file, and started to read.

* * *

The morning passed slowly. Occasionally someone would knock and enter, sending the kid diving out the still-open window. After the third time that happened, Gordon couldn't resist saying how lucky he was it wasn't raining. Rob smiled sweetly and replied that yes, it was lucky, because otherwise the files would be ruined. Gordon shuddered at the thought. "Anything catch your attention?"

"Yeah. You've got listed all the incidents you believe Batman was involved in. There's three I think were actually imposters. You do have details for one imposter here, and I believe he fits." His lips quirked as though in irritation, before he got his emotion under control.

"You don't approve of other Batmen?" Gordon asked, not surprised but interested to hear his reasoning.

Rob shook his head slightly. "You saw how much I've been injured over the past few years, and that's with the best equipment available, intensive training and highly skilled co-workers. What we do is dangerous. Seriously dangerous. Messing up is very easy, and could well get you or someone else killed." He grimaced slightly. "Addictive as hell, though."

"Addictive?"

"It's quite a thrill, skirting so close to death. Some people get scared off. Some thrive on it. You'd have to be at your best when under that sort of pressure, but you need more than just thrill-seeking." Gordon didn't understand and it must have showed. Rob sighed. "Look, there was this one time someone worked out how to activate the metagene and give people powers. You know, strength, speed, flight, shooting lightening from your eyes, whatever. A whole bunch of people got this done. Then there was an attack by a bunch of time-displaced pirates and cyborgs. It happens. But there were all these people, who thought power equalled ability. It was a massacre."

"Were you…involved?"

"No. It wasn't in Gotham. But that's why we keep a close eye on things. Our line of work requires training and dedication."

"Who decides if you're good enough?"

"We're all accountable to each other. Back home, some of the older guys- Batman and his peers- are authorized to sort of police our community."

"So you're not completely autonomous? You do have limits?"

"Yes and no. We mostly do our own things, individually, in groups, with a partner, it varies. But there are some things we know will not be permitted by our peers. Like killing and mutilation."

"I find it hard to believe a kid would be _permitted_ to follow Batman around."

Rob smirked. "And yet we're the ones with neutralization protocols," he muttered.

"What?"

"There's no official hierarchy in our community. But there are people we look to more than others. Batman's one of them. As one of his partners, that gives me a good standing. I lead the team of my age group."

"You have a team?"

"The Teen Titans. Leading isn't hard; I'm our strategist anyway. It's mostly organizing training and field command."

"Training again?"

"Of course. That's what our lives are. Time in the field, time in civilian ID, time training. Obviously I emphasise training more than a meta would."

"Metas are your people with powers? Are there many of those?"

"No more than a few hundred worldwide. But they are the majority of our community."

Gordon shook his head. "I don't think I understand. How do these…powers fit into your lifestyle? How do your metas do what Batman does?"

Rob pursed his lips and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling fingers. "In general, metas are more reactionary," he explained. "We tend to seek out crime rather than wait for something to respond to. It's sort of like the difference between a beat cop and a murder squad specialist. Does that make sense?"

"I'm not sure it does."

Rob sighed and ran his fingers through his hair; Gordon absently noted he was wearing his gloves. "It's hard to explain without a frame of reference," he admitted. "If metas ever turn up it'll probably make more sense."

"Is that likely?" The world's reaction to Batman had been extreme enough, but someone with powers?

"It's a possibility. I have no idea how likely."

Anything more he might have said was cut off by a knock on the door, swiftly followed by a quiet clunk of boots on metal. Gordon silently sighed, and bade his visitor enter.

* * *

By the time noon rolled round, Rob had finished reading through the files, and cleared up quite a few issues. How he'd been able to tell there was some sort of league of assassins involved in the Scarecrow incident from a few blurry stills was a mystery; but the look on his face was enough to convince him not to pursue it.

When Gordon stepped out for lunch, he ended up taking an hour longer than he expected, being called to sign this, read that and assign personnel to the other. It shouldn't have been an issue; why should he expect a protégé of the Bat to make trouble?

So he was slightly surprised to re-enter the office and find Rob had taken over the computer, and was typing far too fast to merely browsing the net. The teen quickly cleared the screen before Gordon could see it and scurried out of the way. "Just can't keep away from computers, can you?" Gordon asked bemusedly.

"Yeah…" Rob muttered. "See you this evening?"

Before Gordon could reply, the boy vaulted out the window, lightly sprang down the fire escape, and disappeared off down the street.

Gordon shook his head and turned back to the computer, which had rebooted itself and brought up the work he'd been doing earlier. Then he noticed a file lying open. It was one of the cold cases. Here and there in the margins, a neat copperplate hand had written new notes; suggestions to look into a few things or compare this and that forensic evidence. On the last page, an underlined comment merely said "interrogate the wife; she did it".

Even in another world, the strange little Bat couldn't resist solving cases.


	5. Computers

**Black and Red Chapter 5 Computers**

Tim tossed aside an empty casing, having found the motherboard burnt out and stripped out a few minor components. He put his finds in a ratty old backpack he'd found earlier, and picked up an old laptop. Scrapyards could be great places to find bust computers no-one would care if he took home, and the supervisor had given him free reign, as long as he didn't cart off _too_ much stuff, or get hurt.

He'd decided against trying to use public-access computers for the more delicate research, and not doing any at all during the day. So, while waiting for night, he was building his own.

Splitting open the laptop, he found the innards corroded, but the screen was perfectly serviceable, in excellent condition. Using the tools he kept for quick fixes on his wings and gadgets, he detached the screen and slid it into the bag. He just wanted to find a few motherboards, at least one still intact, and some more with salvageable transistors and capacitors and other components.

It was amazing what some people would throw away.

* * *

' _On second thoughts, maybe it's amazing what I've learnt to do since coming under Bruce's tutelage,'_ Tim thought much later, carefully cutting free the pieces and transferring them to a less damaged board. He smiled to himself, thinking of long weekends in the cave, with Babs on the Cray mainframe teaching him the principles of computer technology. So absorbed was he in his task and memories, he only just heard the door creep open. Watching from the corner of his eye, his hand shot out and seized a wrist before it could meet his tech.

"Please don't touch that, Barbara," he murmured gently, releasing the girl's arm. "It's more delicate than it looks." He swivelled around to look at her, blue eyes smilingly meeting her sparkling, curious green.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking over the piles of pieces.

"Trying to build a better computer from scraps of old ones." He shifted the screen, leaving a space for Babs to sit in,

"Can you do that?" she asked, scrabbling over and looking over everything.

"Sure. An awful lot of what's thrown away is perfectly salvageable." As he picked up some wire and a pair of pliers, he remembered the WayneTech buy-back scheme he'd persuaded Bruce to trial, with mixed results- in the end, they'd agreed to continue it due to the imminent scarcity of the precious metals used in tiny quantities in pretty much everything. A few deft twists, and the board he'd been fiddling with was connected to the screen. Adding a battery pack, he tweaked it, and sent power flowing through the systems.

Babs gasped as the screen turned blue, activating. Tim chuckled wryly, and disconnected it again. "You see?" he said. "You just need to know what you're doing."

"How do you learn to build computers?"

He grinned. "I had a good teacher."

Babs leaned forward. "Can you teach me?"

Tim's smile grew. He'd wanted to teach her, but without manipulating her; and now she was volunteering to learn. Good. "Well, I suppose, but I think you might be better at programming rather than hardware."

"Programming?"

"Yup. _Very_ useful. And something tells me you have quite an aptitude for it."

Babs beamed with pride, but then her face dropped. "But what can you actually do with it?"

Tim set down the miniature welder he'd been tuning. "Well, I can make these bits and bobs into a pretty good computer. But with the right programming skills, you can do so much more with it. Near enough _anything_. For example, facial recognition software. Just think how much easier you dad's job would be if he could take a still from a security camera and cross-reference it against the Driver's Licence database." The mainframe back home could do that easily enough; it was very useful.

"Really? Okay then. What do I need to know?"

"Run off, get a notebook and pen, then come back," he told her. As she scrambled off, he kept going with his cobbling together, while mentally running through his long-ago lessons he now applied without really thinking.

Soon, soft and quick footfalls heralded Babs' return. With almost surprising grace, she dropped back into her space, and set the notebook on her knee and poised her pen over it.

"Take good notes, Barbara, and learn them. If I'm going too fast, ask me to slow down. Feel free to ask any questions you have."

"Yes, Rob," Babs said, looking thrilled.

"Very well. Computer programming is all about telling a computer what to do in such a way as it understands. Computers best understand binary, but it is very difficult to read and write. Most programmers use languages such as HTML and C++…"

* * *

They continued through the evening, breaking for dinner, until the Commissioner finally called his daughter off to bed. But Tim called her back at the door. "Barbara, why are you so curious? You hardly know me, so why are you so eager to learn from me?"

"Because you _know_ things," she said, beaming.

"That the only reason?" Tim, familiar with the older Babs' 'tells', was fairly sure she was, not hiding something, but trying to avoid it.

Babs looked at the floor, worrying her lip. "You know I saw Batman a few months ago? The…thing, with Harvey Dent."

"Yes, I know. And, Barbara? I don't believe for one moment Batman killed him. I think it was a lot more complicated." Tim cocked his head, waiting to see the girl's reaction.

"Yeah, it was." Babs ducked her head and blushed slightly. "You remind me of him somehow. But less scary. You're like…a nice Batman. Don't know why. It's nice."

Tim chuckled quietly. He vaguely remembered Dick telling him that one of his first impressions of Babs when they were both in school was that she was sharp as can be and twice as perceptive. "Maybe I'll tell you a story about that one day," he told her. "But you might want to get off to bed before your dad calls again."

She nodded. "My friends call me Babs," she whispered.

Tim smiled. "Goodnight, Babs."

"Goodnight Rob."

As she slipped off to her own room, Tim mused on her little confession. It _was_ hard to hide Bat-like traits, especially from someone as bright as Babs- and he was most likely subconsciously dropping his guard around her anyway.

She'd listened well, asked relevant questions, and then…she'd specifically asked about the applications of her new skills.

Well. That was quite some progress.

Sunset soon enough. He could sneak out and get down to his research. He knew where the best library was, unless that had changed with the world-shift.

Maybe see if they had any books on computer languages…


	6. Forging Pathways

**Black and Red Chapter 6 Forging Pathways**

Babs Gordon didn't go straight to bed. Instead, she hung around, listening as her dad went into the guest room given to Rob Jackson. "What have you been saying to my daughter?" he said, suspiciously.

"I've been teaching her computer programming. She'll be very good at it. And I've found it to be very useful," Rob replied.

Dad went into the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Babs snuck forwards to keep listening. "-Some prelude to pulling her out at night," he was saying.

"Sir, I assure you," Rob replied, his voice even. "I have no intention of taking an untrained child with no true motivation as a partner. I don't have the right to make that kind of decision for her."

"But you would under some circumstances?" Dad asked suspiciously.

"If she decided to go out herself, and I couldn't talk her out of it, then yes, I'd take her as my junior partner. It would be the only way to keep her alive."

Rob sounded cold and distant, shockingly blunt. "You'd teach my daughter to be a soldier?!" Dad exclaimed.

"No, of course not," Rob replied, exasperated. "I'd help her live. Teach her to be the best she could be. And if she doesn't have what it takes, I'd strongly encourage her to give in and stay home."

"You'd let her risk her life for your strange vigilantism?"

"What would you want me to do; lock her up? Turn her in? Besides, if she has the desire, the drive, I'd be a hypocrite to refuse." Rob paused. "But I won't encourage her. I won't mention it, I won't suggest it. She'll have to come to the decision herself. I don't think you understand me. It's not a decision I can make for her, either way. I can't force her out, I can't keep her in. It's her choice. But it's not one I'll let her take lightly."

"If she does decide, will you- will you-" Dad seemed to almost be choking.

"I'll do everything in my power to keep her safe," Rob answered gently. "But…you'll want plausible deniability. I'm sorry. I know this must be difficult for you to accept."

"You could say that," Dad replied. The door opened, and Babs fled back to her bedroom before he could catch her eavesdropping.

* * *

Rob disappeared into the guest room after breakfast, and Babs followed, hoping to find out what he and Dad had meant the previous night about risking her life and being taken as a partner. Rob sat among the various computer components, carefully clipping out pieces of circuitry from a motherboard. "Rob?" Babs asked tentatively.

"Good morning, Barbara," he said, looking up at her momentarily. He reached out and picked up a thick book from beside the bed. "I got this for you."

"Thanks." She took the book, looking uncertainly at the older boy. "Umm…"

"Yes?"

"Who _are_ you?" she blurted, embarrassed.

Rob cocked his head slightly. "Later," he said. "I'd really quite like to finish this. You read that, and we'll talk after lunch."

She glanced down at the book in her hands, seeing it was an introduction to C++, in a plastic covering with a library filing sticker on the spine. She opened it and glanced down the column of return-by stamps. "You stole this from the library?" she asked.

"Borrowed," Rob corrected. "You _borrow_ books from libraries."

"The last date stamp says last week."

Rob hmm'ed. "I may have unofficially borrowed it," he admitted. "But it will go back, okay?"

Babs grinned. "Sure," she replied, and left him to his hardware.

* * *

The 'new' computer had a base two inches thick, with a full keyboard, number pad and mouse-pad sticking out the top and a screen from an old laptop. It really looked quite ugly, and sat on the floor next to the socket it was plugged in to, the cooling system chugging away. Babs stared, wondering if it actually worked. She voiced the question.

"Well, not perfectly. Not too brilliantly at all, actually," Rob replied. "It's got basic function. It's a start." He then started quizzing her on what she'd read about all morning, eventually stopping when she admitted ignorance for the third time. "You're doing great," he told her. "Keep it up, and you'll be an expert in no time."

Babs blushed at the fairly obvious exaggeration, but still felt pleased. "Thanks. Can we talk now?"

Rob nodded, sitting at the foot of the bed and gesturing for her to join him. "If you wish. What do you think of Batman?"

"He's a good man," she replied without thinking. Biting her lip, she elaborated. "He's scary, but brave. He deserves better."

Rob nodded to himself. "Let me tell you a story. There was once a man who was hurt in a very special way. He decided to fight crime to make up for it. As criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot, he decided to become a bat."

"Batman?" Babs whispered. Rob nodded.

"The same. Now, time passed, and soon Batman found himself caring for a child, a boy. This boy insisted on joining him in the Mission, and took the name Robin. Some years later, a girl, styling herself Batgirl, joined them."

Babs furrowed her brow; none of this made sense. There was no Robin, or Batgirl. Batman hadn't been around that many years.

Rob picked up on her confusion. "You'll understand soon enough," he said, and continued his narrative. "Robin was growing up, so he moved away from Batman somewhat and changed his name to Nightwing. Before long, another boy was Robin. Robin Two.

"Batgirl was forced to retire. An information broker, called Oracle, made contact, and started helping Batman gather data and keep track of what happened where and when. Then Robin Two was killed in action."

Babs looked at the floor. She knew Batman couldn't save everybody; but his own partner? Just a boy? What had gone so wrong that _that_ was the result? It was almost incomprehensible.

Rob closed his eyes, sounding slightly pained. "It had a devastating effect on Batman. He became reckless, picking up injuries far more often. A little boy, who'd known who Batman was for some time, noticed this, and covertly helped Batman and Nightwing reconcile. This triggered a chain of events that led to the boy becoming Robin Three.

"A petty thief, styling himself as Cluemaster, finished serving his sentence, and upon his release immediately started plotting his next crime. Furious at Cluemaster's lack of regard for his family, his daughter set out to foil his plans as Spoiler. Eventually, she was accepted as one of Batman's partners, working closely with Robin on many occasions.

"A disaster hit Gotham. During the recovery, a master assassin received a contract for a hit on a public figure. He ran into a stumbling block in the form of his daughter, who'd fled his custody after her first hit aged five. The girl aided Batman in seeing off her father, and became Batgirl Two.

"Time passed. Robin Two reappeared, resurrected and driven half-insane. He called himself Red Hood, and took vigilantism to fatal levels. He also had a grudge against Robin Three for 'replacing' him. They fought on several occasions.

"And then Batman disappeared. There was much conflict in Gotham, as the criminals got wind of the fact the Bat was no longer around. When the dust settled, Nightwing had become Batman. Unable to see Robin Three as his sidekick, he instead asked the son of Batman to be Robin Four. Robin Three took the name Red Robin, and left in search of his mentor.

"Batgirl Two gave her suit and name to Spoiler, in the hopes it would lead Spoiler to fulfil her full potential. Shortly after, Red Robin persuaded her to return to the fold, and she took the name Black Bat.

"Batman, the first Batman, returned. He initially found it difficult to work with his son, so Nightwing stayed as Batman for a short time, teaching Robin Four while Batman checked up on his other partners. When he returned to Gotham, Nightwing returned to his own name, but kept working closely with Batman and Robin, as did Red Robin. Batgirl Three worked under Oracle's tutelage, and Black Bat chose to spend some time away from Gotham in Hong Kong.

"Soon after, a particularly bad fight led to Red Hood reconciling with his former partner, and re-joining him. Batgirl One announced her intention to come out of retirement. Spoiler willingly stepped back, yielding the name to its former holder.

"Then one night, Red Robin accidentally got caught in an explosion, which catapulted him through dimensions, and landed him on an Earth, similar yet different from his own…"

Rob's melodic voice tailed off, and Babs snapped out of the almost-trance his narrative had put her in. "That's you?" she asked. "You're Red Robin?" The implications slowly sank in, his earlier question making perfect sense. "You're Batman's partner."


	7. What's It Like?

**Black and Red Chapter 7 What's It Like?**

Tim ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he'd revealed too much. But he'd had Babs' keen, sharply intelligent voice in his ear for too long not to trust it. Being with her, so many secrets separating them, seemed too unnatural. Besides, he wasn't revealing anything that would endanger this world's Batman, and he _really_ wanted Oracle's help. Babs hadn't said anything since working out his profession. She kept shooting him nervous glances through her eyelashes. Unwilling to press her, he kept tinkering with his homemade computer, waiting.

"What's it like?" she asked eventually. "Working for Batman."

"With him," he corrected gently, setting aside the circuit board. "It's…different. Fairly intense. We have to be ready to go pretty much all the time, and quiet nights in are few and far between. Even when we're not out, we're still working on long term projects and stuff. Out patrolling almost every night. We see the worst of humanity, and find the best within each other."

"Wow," Babs murmured, looking slightly star-struck. "But, what does it _feel_ like?"

Tim frowned, considering. "It feels like a lot of responsibility. When we're out there, there're lives in our hands. Not just victims, because if we're clumsy, unfocused, or lose control, we could end up seriously harming people instead of just stopping them. It's a little frightening, thinking of how much damage we could do."

"If it scares you, then…?" Babs tilted her head quizzically

"Well, of course it's scary, and risky. But it also feels _right_. When we keep ourselves and each other in check, when we see how many lives we've saved, we know we're needed. You've seen Joker; he's the worst, but there's more kind of like him. Time and again, we're fighting for the innocent."

"What got you started?"

"For me, it was a simple matter. If I hadn't gone out when I did, that first time, Batman and Nightwing would have died. We've all lost a lot to crime, one way or another. It motivates us."

"'Lost a lot'?" Babs asked, fascinated, before realising it would be a sensitive topic and ducking her head. "Sorry, it's just- With Joker around…Did he, or someone like him I mean…did you lose someone?"

"Not…exactly." Tim pursed his lips, judging what to reveal. "Black Bat and Robin were initially raised by assassins. Spoiler's father's a part-time resident of Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. My own parents turned out to be crooks, found that out after a deal went wrong and they got a hit on them. Most of what we do is trying to stop other people losing to crime."

"Your parents were crooks?" Babs breathed, looking shocked.

Tim shrugged. "It happens. I don't like thinking about it."

"Sorry." She ducked her head, looking properly contrite. Then she flicked her gaze up again. "So…you don't have any family?"

"Of course I do. Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, we're family. There's a reason why soldiers fighting next to each other are called 'brothers in arms'."

"Guessing you mean Batman's kinda like a father?" Babs smirked slightly.

Tim grinned. "You wouldn't think it, but yeah, he's the best I could have."

"And…three brothers, three sisters?"

"Not quite. Batgirl's more like a sister-in-law, I swear Nightwing's gonna pop the question one of these days-" Babs giggled, and Tim grinned again, more than enjoying the fact she has laughing at her own counterpart's probable imminent engagement. "And Spoiler and I have been dating on and off since we were twelve."

"She's your girlfriend?"

Tim paused before answering. There seemed to be more than simple inquiry behind the question. Her body language read disappointment, and Tim remembered once overhearing his world's Babs chatting to Steph and Cass, talking about how she loved the contrast between Dick's black hair and blue eyes. He guessed that, in Dick's absence, she'd picked up an attraction towards him instead. He mentally sighed, twisting slightly so his position in relation to her was just a little more obviously chaste, drawing his knees slightly closed to his chest. He liked Babs; he liked Batgirl; the affection was flattering; but…

"Yes, Spoiler's my girlfriend," he confirmed. "We have a lot in common. You know, running around rooftops, beating up bad guys…"

"Oh," Babs said in a small voice.

"When I finish making this thing, it'll need programming," Tim said, changing the subject. "I've got to wipe it to get the different parts to integrate. Want to get your notebook and we can discuss creating an operating system from scratch?"

"Okay then." Babs jumped up, but stopped at the door, turning back. "Rob? Where did Batman go? Ours, I mean, not yours."

Tim sighed, thinking back to his research the previous night. Bruce Wayne had recently shown a new interest in his company. Looking back through the articles, he'd found a record of a speech Bruce had given at a fund raiser for Harvey Dent, which was subsequently gate-crashed by Joker. In the speech, he'd mentioned a great friendship for one Rachel Dawes. The same Rachel Dawes who'd died only a few days later. Knowing Bruce's tendency to excess grief, it wasn't hard to guess what had happened.

"I don't know," he said at last. "In my world, Batman never…retreated, as such. But, I found indications that he lost someone close during Joker's rampage. Combined with the corruption of Dent, the widespread speculation that the whole thing was aimed at him…I think it demoralized him somewhat."

"Will he be back?"

"I can't say."

* * *

Hours later, the plans for the new operating system were done, the computer itself was nearly finished, and Commissioner Gordon was telling his daughter to go to bed. "Five minutes!" she pleaded. Tim chuckled, hearing the put-upon father sighing and giving in.

"It must be nice, not to have to go to bed early," Babs grumbled. "What _do_ you do at night?"

"Well, tonight I was going to sneak out and patrol," Tim answered, stretching. "I'm sure I'll find something to do."

"Sounds fun," Babs said wistfully.

Tim smirked. Fiddling with the arm-belt hidden beneath his borrowed navy shirt, he pulled out his spare comm, flicking it over and slipping his own into his ear. "Large button on the side," he said. "That opens all-channels. I can teach you the details later."

Babs tentatively placed the tiny device in her ear, tapped the button, and frowned. "I can't hear anything," she said.

"You sure?" Tim asked.

Babs jumped slightly at the voice in her ear. "That's really cool."

"I'll give you a run-by as I go," he promised.

She threw her arms around his waist in a hug. "Thank you!"

Tim gently disentangled her. "Your dad will be calling again in a moment."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Tim glanced down guiltily. "You'll probably work it out…" he admitted. "I have the greatest respect for your character and intellectual ability."

"Uh…"

Before she could form a question, the Commissioner hurried her away to bed, leaving Tim to frown after her, before suiting up and heading out.


	8. Decisions Made

**Black and Red Chapter 8 Decisions Made**

Rob was late to breakfast, staying in bed until after the Gordon patriarch had left for the Police HQ. Babs was also pretty tired; she hadn't turned the comm off and fallen asleep until Red Robin told her he was heading back, around half three in the morning. The fact that he was even able to get up around eight, after six, seven hours running around following a full day of work on his computer and tutoring her, and only about four hours sleep…

If he was ten years older, his dreary countenance could be taken as a sign of a hard night's clubbing. Half a cup of coffee later, he'd brightened right up again. He was a little quieter, but generally the teen was as friendly and softly-spoken as ever. Babs watched him, eagle-eyed, until he finished eating and excused himself from the table. She barely gave him a minute before hurrying after him.

"You do that _every_ night?" she asked, slipping into her spot among the remains of the computer parts. "Where do you find the energy?"

Rob stifled a yawn. "Sleeping to noon at the weekend," he answered. "And we do sometimes nap before dinner. Other than that, it's just caffeine and determination."

"Don't you just…collapse after a while?" Babs tried to wrap her head around it. She was drained after staying awake, lying in bed, listening to Rob tell her what he was doing, all the crime he stopped, the people he fought. And that had been stationary, not exactly physically exhausting. How could anyone be up that long, running and fighting and risking their lives?

"Yes, occasionally we collapse as well," Rob acknowledged wryly. "But there's an absolutely amazing man who keeps us going. You know, making sure we eat most days, sleep at least once every week, patches us up. We wouldn't be able to keep going without him. Oh, and we usually end up benched every now and again for injury, which kinda gives recharge time while we're healing up." He made a face. " _Hate_ having to wait to heal, sooo dull."

Babs stared at him. "Seriously?"

"Yup, it's our mindset, bit odd, I know." Rob grinned briefly, clearly at ease with the fact he was clearly _not normal_. "Injuries are irritating, well, it's more infuriating when they're first acquired, but really, it's just part of the life."

"It sounds a lot more scary when you say that," Babs mused, just a little freaked out. Maybe she should back away from Rob a bit, just…let him do his thing. Not risk involving herself in his way of life any more.

"It's not that bad. You just gotta be careful on the streets." He looked at her, appearing to gaze deeply into her mind. "You won't be in any danger just from doing research and stuff," he told her gently. "I won't let that happen."

"Oh." She thought for a moment, realizing he was right. Whatever she was doing to help him, as long as she stayed home, the only danger would be what Rob put her in. Then she realised exactly what he'd said. "You want me to help you?"

"Babs," he said firmly. "This is in no way a reflection on you, but I still just want to get home." Babs felt a flush of humiliation that he didn't want to stay with her, but he _did_ have a family waiting for him. Rob continued. "Unfortunately, I don't have access to the same kind of resources, same kind of personnel, same kind of information that I normally do. Interdimensional travel is exceedingly complicated even when you know what happened, which I don't. And of course, I don't intend to let anything happen to Gotham and its people that I can prevent. But I need help. Remember I mentioned our information broker? I would very much like it if you became my Oracle."

Babs thought. She still had a slight, niggling resentment. Even though she rationally knew Rob would naturally want to go home, and she couldn't expect him to stay, it was hard not to feel upset that he intended to leave her. But then there was the obvious honour of him offering her a position the equivalent of his tutor, a valued member of their little clan. Their hacker, information provider, mission controller. He was offering her the chance to help in the fight against crime in a way wonderfully suited to her new-found talents.

"It won't be easy," Rob warned. "There'll be a lot to learn. Oracle is our co-ordinator, versed in strategy, efficient communication, prioritizing targets, finding the links between cases- one could argue that's more an art than a science. It's a great sort of intellectual thrill though, knowing you've cracked the chaos of the streets."

Babs giggled, and Rob smirked. Then she sobered. "Is it really that hard?"

"In many ways, yes. We can get a bit blinkered in the field, one aim after another, one fight to the next, one _victim_ to the next. You heard how it went last night, all those crooks I…encountered. Usually, that's fine. But when there's something larger going on, we need to be kept on track, and we always need more information to work out what to do. That's _your_ job- or will be, if you want it."

"Will it help people?" Babs asked seriously. "Will it _save_ people?"

"It'll help me," Rob said softly. "I can't say for sure if it will save anyone in and of itself, but _I_ need you. I can't do all this alone."

"Then I'm in," she said simply. "If this is what you need, I'll do whatever I can."

He smiled, relief showing in the curl of his lips and softening gaze. "Thank you."

* * *

Jim Gordon had not suspected anything was amiss when Red Robin was late to breakfast, but in hindsight ought to have. The numerous reports on his desk that morning were enough to give an indication that the teen may have been avoiding him. Numerous petty criminals had been found either unconscious or at least knocked about, and they'd been quick to confess. Five muggings. Two rapes. Three carjackings. One breaking and entering. A ring of drug pushers. The ones who'd been awake had spoken of who had caught up with them. It wasn't terribly difficult to make an educated guess.

It was something of a relief to find him in his office after lunch. It saved having to pull him aside after he got home.

"Care to explain why we have seventeen people all claiming to have been beaten up by a "demon bird"?" Gordon asked grouchily.

"'Demon bird'? Seriously?" Red Robin scowled, his usually inscrutable expression beneath the mask twisting in displeasure. "That's Robin, surely, and he's half assassin," he grumbled.

"So it was you?" Gordon said, trying his hardest not to think about why the boy would be referring to a co-worker as 'half assassin'.

"Well, yes, but I resent the demon bit."

Gordon sighed sitting behind his desk and gesturing Red into the visitor's seat. "Care to explain?"

He sat, relaxing while still looking ready to jump into action. "What do you want? A blow-by-blow account of the night? Or something more philosophical?"

"An account would be useful," Gordon mused.

"I can write you a report whenever you like."

"But why did you feel the need to go out and make a fuss?"

"It was needed," the teen told him bluntly. "I spent seven hours in the worst part of the city, and we pulled in seventeen. That's _not_ good. There's a major problem here."

"And I suppose you think you're the only solution."

The tip of an eyebrow peeped out from beneath the mask. "I'm _one_ solution. I like to think a fairly good one, but I'm not perfect, or sufficient for the magnitude. _Batman_ isn't enough, and believe me mine has tried. I'm sure there are other things that work. Your Dent Bill. We never had anything like that proposed, and certainly not passed. That might work. I hope so. There is honestly nothing I'd like more than to have to either retire or move somewhere else because I'm just not needed in Gotham- yours _or_ mine."

"Is that ever likely?" Gordon thought, trying to imagine a Gotham with next to no crime, peace reigning. Or even just minor crime, only the occasional murder.

"Not in my Gotham." Red sighed, leaning forward and slumping on the desk. "We just have too many loonies. Joker, Harley, Freeze, Ivy, Two-Face, Riddler, Scarecrow, Bane, Black Mask, Penguin, Strange, Hush…Well, Black Mask was killed, dunno who did it, and Penguin's gone into legitimate business, if you can call it that, but that's not even starting on the minor annoyances, or the occasional assassin we have to deal with. You've had it one. _Hell_. Of a lot easier. You have a chance. Get your Bill passed. Enforce it well. Find some way to get the money where it needs to go. It would be nice to know there's one Gotham out there in the multi-verse that got it right."

Over the course of his little speech, Red had gone from resigned, to intense, pleading, determined for Gordon to _understand_ , to see why he was giving this world a better chance than his own. And it was starting to make sense. In all the trials his city had faced, Red's world had faced them and more, years of struggle. Gordon's world had a chance at a different path.

"We don't intend to do any less than everything we can," Gordon said gruffly. "But do you really need to beat up our criminals?"

Red smirked. "This time tomorrow, it will be known throughout the organized underworld that there's someone else standing against them. However long I'm here, I'll fight them. Every life saved, every crime prevented, it's worth it."

Gordon nodded slowly. And sighed. "Then we're just going to have to work out what to tell everyone."


	9. Learning Process

**Black and Red Chapter 9 Learning Process**

"Right," Rob said, stretching his arms out in front of him, fingers cracking as the joints reset. "That's all we can do for this baby."

"Really? It's done?" Babs asked excitedly.

It was a week since Rob had started her Oracle training. In the day, they focused on equal parts strategic theory and building the computer's operating system. At night, when Rob took to the streets, he'd tell her the situation, wait ten seconds for her assessment, and then act. That was usually followed by an explanation of why her plan would have failed; although it was with increasing frequency that he was following her strategy. After all, knocking out a single mugger from above didn't require much creativity.

"We've done about as much to the computer as we can," Rob explained. "It's not powerful enough, not fast enough, not got enough memory to do what we want it to. It needs to piggyback on something better."

"Okay," Babs shrugged. "Like the Pentagon?"

"Serious?" Rob asked, raising one eyebrow. "I'm talking _much_ better than the Pentagon."

"Babs frowned. "Better than the military?"

Rob smirked. "It's overrated. The system I have my eye on is something different, probably the best I've seen outside the one back home."

"What is it?" Babs asked, intrigued.

Rob's smirk turned into an outright grin. "One of WayneTech's finest creations."

Babs' jaw fell open. WayneTech didn't have a speciality as such, but had a reputation for producing the crème-de-la-crème of whatever they were doing. There were rumours that they'd made a supercomputer called a "Cray Mainframe", but there was never any releases about it. Emotions warred within her. Admiration for his bold plan. Fear it might be too ambitious. Burning, insatiable curiosity. "How do we do that?" she asked.

"Okay, first we make a sentinel program, then we hack the system and insert it," Rob explained. "But it's not quite that easy."

"Why not?"

"Try hacking it, right now."

Babs bent over the keyboard, brow furrowing, and started work.

* * *

Tim watched Babs at work. She was doing everything right, but Tim had already tried it, and knew something she didn't. The security on Bruce's computer was too good for a remote hack. Not insurmountable, but…

Well, they'd just have to plan an operation to gain access.

"What can we get from Wayne's computer, other than the system itself?"

Tim frowned internally. She was already as curious as her older counterpart. And the question was somewhat…delicate. "You recall I mentioned some tests I hope to have done?" he asked. "To find out more about the differences between this world and my home at the sub molecular level? If we have access to that computer we can have the R&D department do that."

"Oh," Babs said in a small voice, and Tim suppressed a wince. Emotionally she was treating his obsession with leaving as a personal slight, though he knew her intellectual understanding overruled the emotion.

Babs mastered the unpleasant feelings and returned to objectivity. "Once you have these test results, you'll be able to go home?"

Tim sighed, knowing the problems. "No. It'll help gain an understanding of our current position within the multiverse – that's the group of fifty-two relatively close-linked universes – in relation to my home. But I don't know enough to build a way back. I hope to send a signal. The rest will have to be done on the other end. If B can rebuild the whatever-it-was…"

"How far will your Batman have got by now?" Babs asked absently, focused on her hack.

"I'm not sure he'll even know I'm gone yet," Tim muttered, embarrassed.

"What?!" Babs stopped working and looked up. "Why not?"

Tim winced. "We had an argument twelve days ago. Two days before the accident. After something like that, there's normally one week of being too angry to make contact, and one of hurt resentment, before someone gives in and starts talking. Plus I have something of a reputation for getting too wrapped up in cases to talk to anyone…"

"Wait." She held up a hand. "Were you not in Gotham? I'd have thought Batman would notice if you just up and vanished."

"Ah. Yeah, he would, but I was in 'Frisco with my team. They don't always pass on that kind of information. If Spoiler or Nightwing missed me…"

"The others wouldn't check up on you?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Red Hood and Robin, no. Batgirl and Black Bat, only if they wanted my help, or thought I was in trouble. We generally give each other a bit of space to do our thing. Well, except Nightwing, but he still hasn't learned of the existence of personal boundaries." His lips quirked slightly, thinking of the unending affection his eldest brother couldn't help but heap on anyone within range.

"And Spoiler?" Babs asked oh-so-casually.

"The two of us tend to keep in contact even when one or both of us is not happy with B," Tim answered mildly. "Have you finished that hack?"

Babs turned back to the computer and resumed. She always seemed uncomfortable when Spoiler was brought up, but could seem to resist asking for more. Touch of emotional masochism? That would need keeping an eye on.

As she kept working, he thought of his beloved Stephanie. He daydreamed a little of her silky, blonde hair, her warm brown eyes, the _fantastic_ curves she was almost finished developing. Another thing to look forward to about getting home. He just couldn't believe he was so lucky as to have her want him as more than a guy to fight next to.

"Rob?" Babs said, interrupting his thoughts. "Um, I can't get in, I can't work it out…"

He looked over, noting where she'd got to. "You can't from here, no. The security's too good. We need to get something physically into the computer in order to link up from here. Which means we need to, well, for one, write the extra program, but then one of us needs to break in and gain access to the computer."

Babs' eyes went wide. "Isn't that very risky?"

Tim shrugged. "It's not too bad. If you're using this to help smooth my way through, I should manage it without being detected. If I am caught, no-one will know you're here, and I think I can persuade Wayne not to press charges. But really, it just needs a little preparation."

"What kind of preparation?"

Tim pulled from beneath his pillow some blueprints he'd filched the previous night. "New lesson. How to plan an assault on a well-guarded, unarmed facility."


	10. Assault

**Black and Red Chapter 10 Assault**

Tim had snuck around Wayne Tower before. Sometimes, he, Dick, or Cass, (whoever happened to be around) would play hide and seek, or manhunt, or some other game of that sort while waiting for Bruce. The penalty for getting caught by adults ( _responsible_ adults, Dick not counting) was no more than a figurative slap on the wrist and a stern word from the Wayne patriarch about getting underfoot.

However, this bit of fun and games was not a case of the CEO's children playing around. This was teen vigilante Red Robin infiltrating the Tower with the intent to take over the supercomputer in the basement. Quite a bit more bother if caught. Good thing he knew the Tower so well.

Sneaking into the central security office was surprisingly easy. It was accessible via the vents, a weakness his Bruce counteracted by fitting narrow grill over the entrances (with a special catch in case one of them needed to sneak around), but this Bruce had merely ensured the ducts were too narrow for a full-grown man to fit through. Clearly he had yet to meet Selina Kyle. Well, Red Robin had always been a bit on the small side, so that wasn't a problem.

Before sliding into the surveillance office, he dropped some sleeping gas pellets. The two guards collapsed, and would wake with fuzzy memories and assume they'd been napping on the job. With luck, there would be no traces he'd ever been there.

"Oracle," he whispered into his earpiece. "I'm redirecting the camera feed now. Standby to create the loop." He inserted a computer disc and started sending the signal from each camera in turn back to his homemade PC in the Gordons' spare room, watching the slight lag as each one took an extra half-second to come back. After a minute or so with each one, his partner whispered an affirmative, and he moved on.

It took the best part of an hour to loop enough cameras for Tim's purposes, and the guards were starting to stir. "Okay, step two," he muttered, removing the disc, pulling the guards into their chairs and returning to the ducts. "Got the plans at hand?"

" _Yeah,"_ Oracle replied. _"Third right, then second left to the main vertical shaft."_

Two nights ago, Red Robin had traced the route he'd be taking through the Tower's ducts, and come across numerous inconsistencies with the official blueprints. Although it had been half-expected, given his Bruce had been known to make additional ducts purely for the sake of easier clandestine movement and 'forgetting' to file the changes, it had turned into an extremely frustrating night of dictating distances to Oracle to make a new map alongside the blueprints and back-tracking through annoyingly narrow passages, leaving him thinking longingly of the Tower back home, where the ducts were big enough for Bruce to crawl through.

"Reached the main vertical shaft," Red Robin reported. "How many floors do I go down again?" The ducts were not direct, the main shaft as narrow as any other and did not go down to the basement, meaning he needed to go to the one level the complex maze connected with the elevator shaft, on the other side of the Tower.

" _Twelve, then you cross to the elevator shaft,"_ Oracle reminded him.

"Right. Give me some radio silence." Red Robin reached into the storage compartments in his gauntlets and pulled out electromagnetic climbing pads. He slipped the strap over the back of his hands, pulling them tight, with the magnet on his palms and the switch nestled by his thumbs. He rolled onto his back, glad he'd had the foresight to retract his wings, and slapped both palms against the metal of the shaft above him. Then he wriggled until his legs hung down the shaft and his grippy boots planted firmly against the wall, pushing his lower back against the opposite wall to take the pressure off his arms and shoulders. By toggling the power on and off in the climbing pads, he had a safety hold in case he slipped.

The most difficult part was keeping track of the floors. Not all ducts entered the shaft from the same direction, and it required conscious effort to track each floor. After what seemed like an hour, but was more likely a few minutes, he reached the right opening, dropped below it, and crawled in headfirst.

"Which way now?" he asked, breaking the requested radio silence and pulling off his climbing pads.

" _Uh, first right,"_ Oracle answered, a slight rustling of paper coming over the comm as she shuffled the maps.

Red Robin followed her directions across to the elevator shaft that went down to the lower basement levels omitted from the filed plans. He'd found them while looking around previously in search of an area corresponding to the Bunker, the secondary cave Dick had favoured at the start of his tenure as Batman. He had indeed found signs of it, although with the cameras watched by security, he hadn't risked entering. It was most likely used as a base of operations after Wayne Manor had been burnt down (forget "Drunken Billionaire"; that was the same night the League of Shadows made their strike, and _no way_ was that a coincidence.

Soon enough, he reached the elevator shaft. Carefully looking up and down, his night-vision lenses couldn't spot the elevator itself, lurking the gloom above. Rather than waste time with the magnets, he flicked out a pair of climbing hooks built into his gloves and jumped. The hooks caught on the cables and controlled his rapid descent, until he landed heavily at the bottom of the shaft.

The next stage was one that Red Robin privately found harrowing. He had to open the elevator door from within the shaft itself, and if the elevator descended before he could do so, he'd be crushed. Of course he had no reason to suspect Bruce would come down, unless he'd found the loops on the cameras, but…

First step was planting enough explosives to blow open the door, without hindering their ability to open. Doing so would eliminate any stealth elements, but was a necessary backup plan if he needed to get through the doors in a hurry. Next, he pulled out a cutting tool, located the most likely location of the opening mechanism, and cut. By carefully keeping track of every movement, he should be able to repair the damage enough to allay any suspicions. Once the mechanism was exposed, it was the work of but a moment to trip the controls to get the door open without damaging the mechanism.

The bunker was a large, white, open area. Various cases and work benches dotted the room. It took Red Robin a moment to re-orientate himself before reporting to Oracle. "I'm in," he said, turning back to the open doorway, popping the maintenance hatch over the call button, and closing it behind him.

" _What's it like in there?"_ Oracle asked curiously.

Red Robin tilted his head slightly as he looked around, wondering what he could say without giving too much away about the bat-gear. "Like a storehouse of really cool stuff," he said eventually. "Got to have a look round when we're done."

" _And the computer?"_

"I see it." Red Robin padded silently over to the mainframe and sank into the chair. "Booting it up now."

As he waited, he caught sight of a strange, tank-like vehicle at the top of a ramp near the elevator. It was painted black, easily betraying its use, but it bore no resemblance to the sleek Batmobiles he was used to. Next to it stood a motorcycle- if you could call it that- that looked more like leftovers from the tank than a vehicle in its own right. Red Robin shook his head before returning to the computer.

It was now operative, with only a few passcodes needed to get in. A (relatively) simple algorithm showed the number of characters required for each, and Bruce's tendency to use his parents' deaths as his codes made it easy to get in. "Right, I'm connecting to our computer now," he reported. "Standby." Lines of code scrolled across the screen as he worked, hacking his homemade computer through pathways they'd left open just for this. "Okay, you should be able to access it now. Transfer the sentinel program across, I'm having a look around."

He switched his comm to receive only, and walked over to one of the display cabinets. It was the Suit. A very stiff-looking, heavily armoured suit that he couldn't quite picture his Bruce wearing around the cave, cowl around his neck and gloves tucked into his belt. The few photos Gordon had shown him presented a very stern, brutal Bat, and it had been hard to find the slight softenings of his features to make the visage he knew so well. He found his fingers drawn to touch the material, a Kevlar-Nomex weave they tended not to favour, preferring more flexible polymers. Of course, _this_ Bat hadn't been introduced to the fast-flipping acrobatics of Dick Grayson.

Red Robin sighed. He hadn't anticipated seeing what gear a Batman never tempered by a Robin would create. A cabinet of batarangs. Drawers full of explosives. It was only when he came across a completely different shaped grapple that he realised what the real difference was.

When Bruce had been away, WayneTech had had to opportunity to bid on a large number of military contracts. Lucius Fox had only ever taken up a few, and never for arms. Some of the equipment was similar, if more advanced, than those pieces.

Batman was using reformatted military technology, rather than modifying, designing and creating his own. Red Robin frowned; this _felt_ very different. He felt the strange, childish urge to run to his adoptive father, hug him, and reassure himself he was not…what? A soldier? A killer? He knew and understood that his Bruce had been tempered by years of experience, three sidekicks, the death of one and crippling of another. He knew this Bruce was different, but he still found himself responding as though…it was _his_ Bruce down here in the bunker, gearing up as though for war and not the Mission.

He forced himself to put aside his unease and keep going. There were some fairly impressive analytical analysis tools for the sort of work they'd do manually, with good old fashioned detective work. He made a mental note to retrieve the plans for them and put them on a computer disc to take home, but mostly it was just spare equipment,

" _Red Robin, I'm done,"_ Oracle reported. He started, having almost forgotten about the partner in his ear.

"Yeah, I'll just bury our program," he muttered, flicking the link open, somewhat abashed as he returned to the computer. He started by removing the remote link he'd initiated, and waited for Oracle's confirmation the link she'd initiated was still there before systematically hunting down the sentinel and burying it beneath layers of protocol and firewalls, encoding it with a standard password among his family.

"That's it, we're done," he said at last, finishing the cover-up and shutting down the computer.

" _Heading back now, then?"_ Oracle asked.

"Not just yet. I'd quite like to look around a bit more," he told her, moving back into the depths of the bunker, not looking at the suit and so maintaining is objectivity a little better.

Some of the gear could be useful. If he ran out of some things, he might be able to steal some more, but only if he got desperate. Stealing from the Bat was a _bad_ idea.

The only person who'd even sort of gotten away with it was Jason Todd…

He'd take a proper inventory later, when he could raid the computer's files.

He should probably leave it now; time was progressing. Turning away, Red Robin headed back to the elevator, not looking forward to the repair work he'd have to do, nor relishing re-entering the cramped ducts. But it had to be done.

The elevator pinged, and the doors whooshed open. Red Robin crouched, and threw himself out of sight as a tall, bulky figure in a balaclava emerged.


	11. Bat and Bird, Cat and Mouse

**Black and Red Chapter 11 Bat and Bird, Cat and Mouse**

Red Robin held still, hardly daring to breathe lest he give away his position. He didn't need to see his opponent's features to know he was facing Batman, a Batman dealing with an attack on his own base, a Batman who was just a little too much a product of the League of Assassins.

A Batman who would be uncompromising in taking down the intruder, not knowing and likely not caring if it was his protégé and adopted son from another universe.

Red Robin quickly ran through his advantages. He knew Batman. He knew a lot more tricks. He was small, young, and less obviously a threat. He had well-stocked belts and harness. He had nearly as much home-turf advantage.

Batman had strength, skill, determination, and just a touch of brutality.

Priorities: protect his partner, and escape. Oracle should be fine, unless someone managed to locate and backtrack one of their hacks. Shouldn't happen; the Barbara Gordon who'd taught him was the best hacker ever, and everything they'd done was as close to her standards as possible. It would still be a good idea to get her out of the security cameras before someone investigated them.

That left his own escape and, really, how much did he need to do? As long as he secured Oracle's safety and anonymity, all he had to do was hide in the vents until Batman gave up. Or until dawn, and sneak out under cover of daylight. If necessary, he could last a day or two in the confines of the ducts.

Worst case scenario, he throw himself at Batman's mercy in three days' time, when he reached the point of dehydration. Depending on Batman's mood, which could be anything from surly to insanely furious/frustrated, he'd probably end up confined in some way until it was decided, at some quite possibly non-existent point, that he wasn't a threat. Not a terribly appealing prospect.

So, first step was to leave the bunker. Batman was blocking the elevator, which would be the only way out. So, move Batman. Then get out. Take the elevator? No, the cameras by its upper entrance weren't looped. Wouldn't be the best idea to let Batman get footage of him. Which meant taking the shaft up. He couldn't do that with the elevator down in the bunker - and anyway, he'd left a newly-opened panel and explosives in the shaft. Which meant he'd have to get the elevator up, and guarantee it wouldn't be called straight back down on top of him. While keeping Batman occupied.

These deliberations took only a few moments, about as long as it took to formulate a plan.

Red Robin hit the button on his harness, feeling his wings spool out behind him. With a sharp jerk, accompanying a backflip and a twist, he whirled, wings catching the suddenly-created updraft to change hiding place. He landed behind one of the cases of batarangs, and with very little guilt helped himself to a dozen.

Of course, he'd given away his position, but he was almost certain Batman knew where he was anyway, and by taking those batarangs, he wouldn't have to dig into his own supplies, and risk giving away something of who he was.

The heavy footsteps of the older vigilante padded across the floor, and Red Robin dared a glance at the other-world mentor. And another. The stance was very…assassin. It didn't look right. And the make-shift costume, black all over and a balaclava, was clumsy, making him seem more a terrorist than a creature of the night. He couldn't imagine his Bruce ever resorting to such a get-up.

Red Robin threw one of the newly acquired batarangs, the sharp point cutting through the fabric of the balaclava and pulling a section loose from Batman's cheek. He put a hand up, presenting enough of a vulnerability for Red Robin to slip further into the bunker. It continued like that for a time, batarangs keeping Batman occupied so Red could move, until they were both deep in the bunker, and Red was out of stolen batarangs.

Red held position, waiting for Batman to advance. When the moment was right, he unfurled a 'borrowed' cape in Batman's face, vaulted using his staff, and ran for the elevator. He heard Batman following, but kept a turn between himself and the destination. Breaking through the maze, he reached in, hit the button to go up, then threw himself under the tank, and waited.

As the elevator doors closed, Red Robin withdrew his wings and hugged the underside of the tank, minimizing his visible bulk from the source of the heavy footsteps that skittered to a halt in front of the elevator. Batman slammed his hand into the control panel, but when the doors did not reopen, he paced slightly, waiting for the elevator to finish its journey and return.

Red Robin held as still as he could, barely breathing. He heard the steps approach, and retreat, but Batman did not seem to be looking for him. He'd fallen for the ruse. That was…disturbing. Useful, but casting serious doubts on this Batman's competency. Or maybe just his experience; he was comparatively new to the creature-of-the-night thing.

The elevator doors shuddered open, and Batman wasted little time in hurrying in and going up. Red Robin waited a full ten seconds after the elevator left before dropping to the floor and rolling out from beneath the tank. He scuttled over to the door, snapped open the panel and tripped the mechanism. The door slid back open. Red Robin replaced the panel, stepped into the shaft and reached into the hole he'd made earlier to close the door. He'd initially planned to solder the excised panel back into place, but there wasn't really much point now; Bruce already knew he was there. He simply removed the explosives adhering to the door and tucked them into his belt.

Rather than playing with climbing hooks or pads, he used his grapple, speeding upwards towards the intersection between the vent network and the elevator shaft. Batman shouldn't take too long to tell he hadn't gone up in the elevator, and he wanted _out_ of the shaft as quickly as possible. As he kept ascending, he swung, sliding into the duct. Feet first and on his back.

The elevator whirred. Not wanting to climb back out, and risk getting knocked down, he squirmed. But the narrow duct was too cramped. Sighing, he dropped his head back to the bottom of the duct, before reactivating his comm. "Oracle, come in."

" _Red? Everything okay?"_

"Not exactly, no…" He paused for a moment. "I'm back in the ducts, right where they meet the elevator, but I'm facing the wrong direction. I need you to guide me to a junction where I can turn around."

" _Uh, right…"_ Oracle's voice trailed off, and Red Robin wriggled around onto his stomach before pushing himself up onto his hands and knees.

" _Okay, I think I've found a good spot,"_ Oracle said at last. _"If you go directly backwards, there should be a corner, but no junction. Back around the corner."_

"Right," Red Robin muttered, starting to move. "Left and rights would be nice, and a rough estimate how far. Not sure I'd notice if I took the wrong turn."

" _I'll try."_ The eleven-year-old paused, consulting her maps as Red Robin made his way back. _"Reached that turn?"_

"Yeah, to my left, about seventy-five metres from the shaft?"

" _That's the one. Okay, uh…"_

* * *

Bruce Wayne, Batman, was not in his Batman suit. A silent alarm had gone off when the intruder touched the case with his suit, alerting him to the intrusion. He hadn't been able to get his gear, but had improvised.

The intruder knew what he was doing. It hadn't taken long to realise this person had been well trained, but not just, or even mostly, in the League of Shadows way. He, or she, had made a connection between Wayne Enterprises and Batman, either before entering the bunker, or after. This was serious. They had to be stopped.

But they'd got away from him. When the elevator rose, he'd automatically assumed they were aboard. He hadn't even thought to check, until he noticed the grease mark he'd accidently left on the door out of his secret room above was undisturbed, despite stretching the whole way down where he'd knocked a jar of gadget lubricant oil.

He still hadn't learned to mind his surroundings, not even contemplating the intruder may have hidden beneath the Batmobile…

The logical conclusion was that they were trying to escape to the shaft. So he'd sent the elevator back down, and used his rappel to descend, and find where the intruder had gone. If that proved futile, there was an access panel in the roof of the elevator.

Bruce hung in the air, next to the small vent, the only other way into the elevator shaft. The intruder was small, maybe even small enough to go inside. And a slight scuffling sound from within confirmed the supposition. But Bruce couldn't follow…

Damn.


	12. Confrontations

**Black and Red Chapter 12 Confrontations**

Red Robin was starting to get more than a little weary of the endless tunnels. He'd finally managed to turn himself around a mere three corners from the main vertical shaft, and was now approaching the security office. He hoped it would be possible to knock out the security men without giving anything away, then realised B knew he was in the Tower anyway. As long as he didn't get caught, it should be fine. He flicked a sleeping gas pellet through the grate.

As the two security men slumped in their seats, he slid out of the duct and prowled over to the computer. "Oracle," he muttered. "Let's get your feelers out of the cameras. Cancel the loop. I'm closing the link from this end."

" _Right,_ " Oracle replied. _"Just give me a minute."_

"We don't have long," Red Robin warned her. "As quick as you can."

" _I'm trying."_ He heard the rapid tap-tap-tap of the keyboard, and watched the screens flicker as one loop after another was removed. As each camera was freed, he restored the firewalls, removing any sign they'd been there.

" _Okay, last one,"_ Oracle said. Red Robin sighed in relief as he undid the final connections.

"Now listen," he instructed, returning to the ducts. "I want you to turn off the computer, and go to bed. Now. Hide your earpiece and go to sleep."

" _But what about you?"_ Oracle protested.

"I'm not sure I can get back tonight," Red Robin admitted. He started crawling away. "If I'm not back by morning, pretend you don't know anything. The Commissioner knows I run around at night, but he doesn't know about this operation, or about you. He might suspect something, though. It's best if we retain plausible deniability."

" _What do you mean?"_

"There's always circumstantial evidence, but as long as we don't give the Commissioner any proof, he can deny everything." Red Robin twisted around a particularly narrow corner, heading for the external vent. "I think he'll probably suspect we're…working together, but won't want any evidence. If he starts pressing you, offer some hypothetical speculation."

" _Uhm…"_ Oracle hmmed for a moment. _"Maybe you went for a walk and got lost?"_

"Don't want an excuse for a manhunt," Red Robin grunted. "Try again."

" _Lost track of the time…while investigating something? Probably just napping, and you'll be home later?"_

"Whatever's believable," Red Robin replied, relieved she had come up with something. "Bed. Now. I'll be fine. I'll call at dusk if I'm not back by then."

" _Good luck, and be safe,"_ she whispered. _"Oracle out."_

The comm went silent. It suddenly seemed very lonely in the claustrophobia-inducing ducts. Red Robin kept crawling, bringing to the fore his memories of the route out.

As he approached the external vent, he heard a scuffling, rattling noise. The duct flared a brighter green through his night vision lenses as he looked around the last corner. He caught sight of the balaclavaed head, before the light cut out. He crept forward, and heard a sizzling. Speeding up as fast as he could without making more than a minimum of noise, he felt the heat radiating into the shaft. B was soldering a sheet of metal across the exit. He was trapped.

* * *

Bruce stopped soldering when he heard a scuffling from within the duct. He'd expected the intruder to make straight for the exit, and as it had taken some time to find the metal sheet, soldering iron and mask and make it to the external vent, he'd expected his actions to be more damage control than containment. Then he remembered the looped cameras…

"You're caught," he growled, the rasp disguising his voice- no need to give the little rat in the trap any more information.

"Who says?" a faint whisper came back. Bruce realised in that moment they were actually stalemated, both unable to reach their goal, both hiding everything about themselves from the other. "You can't reach me, and there's always another exit," the voice continued.

"Can you find another exit? How long can you stay in there?" Bruce asked, suspecting a bluff.

"I'm not your enemy," the whisper replied.

"Then why are you here?"

"I mean you no harm. If anything, I'm doing your job for you."

Bruce paused. He'd read the newspapers, and heard the rumours of a replacement. "Demon Bird."

"That's what the superstitious and cowardly lot call me," the voice affirmed. "And you? Who are you _really_ , Batman? Who is the man, and who is the mask?"

Bruce started. The intruder knew he was the Bat, so why would he ask a question like that? The only possible explanation was…Rachel's words rang in his head, when she called _Bruce_ the mask. Somehow, impossibly, this pint-sized pretender had some knowledge of that. How else would he know of the very personal identity crisis that only Rachel and Alfred had been privy to? "Who are you to speak in such riddles?" he demanded.

The whisper laughed mirthlessly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," it responded.

"Then who are you to take such actions as you claim to have? Who are you to take my place?" Bruce rejoined; the city was more important than him, always was.

"Well, it's not as if _you're_ doing anything."

"The city doesn't _need_ you." That was the reason he'd quit the vigilante life in the first place. The city needed someone like Dent, who could lead them in the light of day, even if they _deserved_ someone to protect them from the shadows in the night. The cost for such an imperfect solution was just too painful.

"Why; because the people can help themselves?" the whisper was quick to riposte. "The Dent bill has yet to pass. It is yet to be seen how effective it will be. Every murder and rape and theft you let happen in meantime is too much." A breezy sigh. "You need to take responsibility for those in your protection. I'm just passing through, but I won't permit the kind of hurt you turn your back on."

Bruce paused; the whispering voice sounded more than a little angry with him. And somewhat masculine; the disguising breathiness had dropped a little. Before he could respond to the accusations, however, he heard a scrambling scuffle as his intruder retreated back into the depths of the building.


	13. Negotiating

**Black and Red Chapter 13 Negotiating**

Tim shuddered as he came out of his dream. "Bruce!" he cried, only to find the word muffled and distorted by the roll of bandages tied in his mouth.

He sighed as best he could, and reached up to remove the makeshift gag. When he'd realised he'd be spending the night and most likely the following day hidden in the Tower's ventilation shafts, he'd found a low-risk length of duct (in a storeroom) and settled down to sleep, gagging himself as a precaution against bad dreams. A precaution worth taking, it seemed.

Tim ached inside. He missed his home, his brothers and sisters, Steph, _Bruce_. The harrowing chase last night, the bitter reminder of what the only father he'd ever really had could have become if only he'd been a little less lucky in love and enemies, become a little more disillusioned…it was a nasty sting. Forcing a numbness to flow through him and drown the heartaches, he started to move, mindlessly crawling through the shafts on autopilot, not thinking.

Up the main vertical shaft, electromagnetic climbing pads more important than when descending. Back into the ducts, just moving, right, right, left. Eventually he came to what felt like a natural halt. Where was he?

Oh. The CEO's office.

Tim pulled back from the vent, rolling over onto his back as the mental distress he'd been holding back washed over him. Even in a different world, his automatic reaction was to seek Bruce. It suddenly seemed so hard to keep going alone. Of course, he'd flown solo before, sometimes for extended periods, but then he always _knew_ he had the option of going home. The memory of his dream came back, faint flashes of images of things long past. The corpse of Bruce's clone. Dick, when the other-world Alexander Luthor had blown him up, badly injuring him. Stephanie, breathing shallow and strained, beaten near to death by Black Mask. Jason's gravestone, and torn and bloodied uniform. Bruce, back twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood, death, Joker's laughter, destruction, pain, loss-

He caught himself, the slight plink sound of a droplet of water on the metal surface of the shaft bringing him back as a few tears streamed down his face. That was enough. They had survived all those things. What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

…Which complete _imbecile_ said that?!

Anyway, this world's Bruce wasn't CEO; that was Lucius Fox. Bruce was just the majority shareholder. Lucius had always been a good ally. Whether or not he knew exactly _who_ it was running around under the various masks and cowls was unknown; like with Commissioner Gordon, they let plausible deniability take care of the secret. Lucius _did_ know about Batman Inc., and that it had been going for a lot longer than the public knew (they weren't denying that it had been going about as long as Batman in one form or another, they just weren't advertising it either).

Tim rolled upright again. If he wasn't going to do anything he'd have to move on. His only plan for leaving the Tower was currently to wait for the end of the day and hope he could cut through the sheet metal blocking the exit vent. But his thoughts were swiftly derailed as he realised he wasn't being quite as quiet as he intended to be. His shoulder scraped on the too-close duct side, and his boots thudded against the metal. He froze.

Lucius Fox was in the office right next to him. If he'd heard…

* * *

First thing that morning, Bruce Wayne had been asking about the possibility of fumigating the entire network of vents. Lucius had very firmly told him it was _not_ possible. Bruce had sulked, and then told him that, if one wanted to remove, say, an intruder from, say, the ventilation system, there _had_ to be a way. Right?

Further pressing had revealed Bruce was worried the new 'Demon Bird' might get in. The revelation was neatly phrased in such a way as to leave a lot of doubt as to whether this supposed incursion was in the past or the future, or indeed if Bruce thought it likely to occur at all.

As there seemed no apparent way to remove a hypothetical intruder from the shafts (they being too small for most to enter) Lucius could offer no advice but block the outside opening and wait for whoever it was to leave of his own volition before catching him.

Then, while reading through a financial report from one of the sub departments, he heard a slight scuffling noise, and a few quiet thuds. The sound abruptly halted, but it had already caught Lucius' attention. He looked around. No sight of anything that might have caused it. Where exactly had it come from? Nothing there, except the vent.

Of course. Intruder in the vent. Clearly they'd been just a little too clumsy. Lucius sat back in his chair, trying to work out what to say that wouldn't make him or her scarper. "People make mistakes," he started. "Some you can recover from. Some, you can't. I wonder, which would breaking into Wayne Tower be?"

There was another minute scuffling, and then it quieted. Lucius looked at the vent opening, but nothing was discernable. "Why are you here?" he asked. When there was no reply, he tried again. "The papers call Demon Bird the next Batman. I'm not convinced anyone can replace him. What do you think?"

"I don't think it's all that difficult when he abdicates his responsibilities," a faint whisper replied. "And it's Red Robin."

"I'll admit, he hasn't been doing much lately," Lucius responded. "Perhaps he's just biding his time."

"Maybe. Or perhaps he's intending it to be permanent," the whisper retorted. "Maybe I know who he is, and why he's trying to quit."

"Sounds like you don't believe he'll stay away."

"I'm sure he'll try, but with enough motivation, enough of a shock to kick him out into the night, he'll be back." The whispering voice sounded very sure of itself, and more than a little satisfied with its conclusion.

"Perhaps I also know who he is, and have greater faith in his conviction," Lucius replied, testing the water. This Red Robin quite likely knew that Batman associated with Wayne Enterprises, and possibly _did_ know exactly who was under the cowl; it would explain his presence at least. So giving away his knowledge wasn't losing him anything. Of course, he did actually agree with the new vigilante, but he didn't need to know that. But it was painfully obvious Bruce wasn't coping, either with his Rachel's death or with quitting his lifestyle.

"You're bluffing," Red Robin replied. "You know as well as I do this sabbatical will no doubt be temporary. But how many will suffer before he gets the message?"

Lucius looked at the vent again. Red had a point. "Come out so I can see you, please," he asked.

"With you telling the Bat everything? Not likely."

"And if I were to not tell Batman? Can we not talk face-to-face?"

A shadow fell over the vent. Lucius got up and crossed over to the opening, reaching up to open the grate. As it fell open, he could see in the darkness a dark haired boy, black domino mask with flaring tips covering his eyes and the lenses glowing green with night vision. The boy couldn't be more than fifteen, if that. He was lying on his front, resting his head on his folded arms. Not much more was visible in the gloom.

A black and red gloved hand snaked up and tapped the side of the mask, the green night vision switching off. "So, what do you think? Wait for Batman to come out of his funk, or should I take over for a bit?"

"You're fairly young, aren't you?" Lucius asked, dubiously. Alfred had told him Bruce had had ambitions to avenge his parents' murder from the night they died, but he hadn't done anything until he'd grown up.

"I'm very experienced," Red shrugged. "It's difficult to explain, but I've ended up in Gotham on a temporary basis. I'm doing what I know best and protecting the people in the meantime. I just popped in to have a look at a few things and your guy caught sight of me."

"You're not sabotaging us?" Lucius asked, genially. Red Robin really was just a teen, amiable, earnest, a bit weary, and if he'd given Bruce the slip he must be at least his equal. And if he was going to do Bruce's job, then it was _his_ responsibility. Lucius just had to deal with the small fact Red Robin was in the ventilation shaft in his own office.

"Of course not," Red Robin replied. "What would I have to gain from it? I borrowed a few batarangs, but I threw them all back to Batman. I suppose I might come back and borrow more stuff if I really need it, but I'm not looking to antagonize the Bat enough to make him come out of retirement to target _me_. I'd probably try to talk to him first before helping myself, though."

Lucius shook his head. "Very well. How were you planning on getting out of here?"

Red looked a little sheepish. "Burn through the blockage after dusk."

Lucius sighed and hit the intercom. "Get someone from Maintenance to check the ventilation shaft system outtake."

Red grinned. "Thank you."

"Just keep Gotham safe."

"Didn't plan to do anything but." The teen reactivated his night vision and retreated.

Lucius refitted the vent cover and returned to his desk. Always more work to be done.


	14. Freedom and Captivity

**Black and Red Chapter 14 Freedom and Captivity**

Red Robin glided, landed, ran, jumped, glided…again and again, crossing Gotham, putting distance between himself and Wayne Tower. He felt shaken. Arriving at one of the bridges, he grappled up to the top of one of the suspension posts. He sat on the edge, hugged his knees to his chest, and looked out across the water.

_Bruce_. He was so bitter, so aggressive, so certain that _he was right_ …Okay, that last one wasn't really a surprise. He was _always_ certain he was right, even when he was wrong. But to be _so_ wrong was a shock.

He hadn't intended to make contact, because he didn't think Bruce would treat him as a friendly. Being attacked, chased, and trapped, however was a bit much. What exactly had happened to upset him so much?

Obviously Rachel's death had been part of it. Harvey's insanity; that had always been near the top of his "greatest failures" list. Having to take responsibility for Two-Face's rampage. Not being able to stop Joker sooner. A list of bad things, but even in combination, it seemed very unlikely to be enough to make him quit.

The fact that Lucius agreed, and was willing to let a potential rival go to prove it, had been somewhat shocking. What could possibly be happening in this twisted city?

Alfred would know. Would Alfred tell him? Should he even go find and ask Alfred? Probably not, at least not now.

Tim took a deep, shuddering breath. Peripheral issues. The important thing was that he could start the research that would get him home, and in the meantime continue his crusade of justice, mission of super-awesomeness, whatever Dick wanted to call it today. Same procedure they always had for when something goes wrong; keep going until it's sorted.

He was shocked out of his musings by a shout from below. Oh, it seemed the police had a suicide watch on the bridges. How quaint.

He stood. So they wanted him not to jump? Ha.

He jumped, flared his wings, and flew.

* * *

Babs was equal parts bored, and worried. Bored because the most interesting thing to happen all summer had suddenly stalled; and concerned because her friend was missing.

Rob had said he would be fine. This kind of stuff was his speciality. He would get out, or at least call her to say he was okay. Then he'd be back and everything would be great. They'd solve crime, take out baddies and…

Then he'd go home and leave her to her normal, boring life.

For a moment, bitter, _painful_ resentment built up in her. He was showing her how to be brilliant, how to help make people safe, how to accomplish everything she'd ever wished, and then he was going to _leave_ and _tear it away_ with him!

She felt her chest tighten. This was a total no-win. Either Rob would get his wish and go home, or she, Barbara, would have what she _needed_. Rob had said it felt _right_ , even called his lifestyle addictive, and now she was just as much a part of it. That meant…

That meant she could never give it up. Never stop, never turn her back. She'd been given a taste, even over a communications signal, and _nothing_ would be the same again.

Why? Why would he _do_ that? Give her the slightest hint of what it could be like, just to get her hooked?

"It's not fair!" She clapped a hand to her mouth as she realised she'd said it aloud.

"What's not fair?"

She turned, and saw, coming in through the window, Red Robin. Instantly, she bit her lip, ashamed. It wasn't actually his fault, after all; how could he have known how easily she'd fall?

"I'm sorry!" she blurted, tears starting to trickle down her face as she realised just how screwed up the situation was. "I- I- it's just-"

Frowning, he came over, removing his mask and dropping it on the bedside table as he did so. He gently took hold of her chin, staring into her eyes, his sky blue orbs searching, calculating. And then shocked, horrified, regretful.

"Oh, Barbara, I am so, so sorry," he gasped. "I never thought - I shouldn't have - no, actually, that would have been worse, wouldn't it?"

"What?" she sputtered.

He sighed, released her, and sat on the edge of his bed. Babs remembered that he'd spent some twelve hours in Wayne Tower's vents, probably with little to no rest and a whole lot of stress. And now…oops.

"I should have known this might happen," he sighed, massaging his brow. "How did I not see it? I guess it doesn't matter. Listen. And think. If I evaded your questions, did not talk to you, did not teach you, what would you have done?"

"I-I-I'd have spied on you," Babs replied after a moment.

"And found out who I am; followed me; and then..."

"Done it myself," she whispered, horrified at the completely accurate prediction.

"You wouldn't have lasted a week," Rob said, looking up, pain and anguish writ loud on his face. "So you see, it seemed that either my introduction to the hacking side was completely harmless, or I'd be protecting you from the physical side. I… forgot you'd already got caught up in this before, with Two-Face. And got quite the kick. So when I introduced you to a more benevolent aspect, you got hooked. If I'd known that was how it would turn out…"

Babs frowned. "I don't understand."

He chuckled bitterly. "Babs, you could be brilliant," he said. "You could be one of the best of us out there, but not yet. In a few years, if you get yourself the right training, the right equipment, you will be fabulous. But you don't even need to do what I do. Remember what I said? We have Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Batgirl, Black Bat, Spoiler, Robin and me, but only one Oracle." He smiled at her. "I can teach you everything you need for you to become Oracle, and when I'm done, you'll see that you don't need me, and you don't need to be the one on the streets either."

"Will you teach me to be like you as well?"

"We'll see," Rob promised, stretching. "Does your brother play with Lego bricks?"

"Sometimes," Babs answered, confused by the non-sequitur. "He's going through a toy car phase at the moment, though. Why?"

"Can you borrow his supply of bricks?"

"Shouldn't be too difficult."

"Good. We can build facsimiles of urban battlegrounds to plan strategy. Please fetch them, and another notebook and pen if you have one. I need to change into normal clothes and come in the front door."

"Sure." Just before Babs left the room, she glanced back, just in time to see him remove his costume's shirt, revealing the scarring beneath.

* * *

Jim Gordon headed to his guest's bedroom, having heard from his wife the boy arrived back eventually. As he approached, he heard voices.

"No, _I_ wouldn't do that. Nightwing might, but I couldn't jump to all those points fast enough. I'd make for this point here, which gives good line of sight, and use tranq-tipped batarangs. If it was Red Hood?" That was Rob's voice.

"Make for, hmm, this spot? Start shooting , and when the others come running, it's easy. If it was Robin or Black Bat, they'd drop down to floor level and sneak up behind." And Babs.

"Black Bat would be more likely to use the catwalks to reach each target before dropping. Batman would prefer to drop directly onto the target from above. Spoiler likes a head-on confrontation, and Batgirl?"

"Most likely favour tranq 'rangs."

"But while I like to take out as many as possible in one sweep, she would be more sneaky in picking multiple positions, and toys with her marks just a little. Now, advantages and disadvantages of each method?"

Jim tried to supress his anxiety. If they were just talking, his little girl wasn't necessarily running about at night. But why else would Rob be teaching her different approaches to the same situation? He knocked, and entered. There was a large Lego box the two children were leaning over, and a figure stuck to the top of it. Relief flared. Just a game, it seemed. "Hello, kids," he said.

"Dad!" Babs squealed, leaping up and hugging him.

"Commissioner, sir," Rob said, nodding respectfully. "How was your day?"

"Strange report of a boy with wings jumping off a bridge," he offered, making the boy look just a little guilty. "And a rather baffling case came in. Other than that, just the usual."

"Glad to hear it," Rob said neutrally.

"Just wanted to check you made it back alright," Jim shrugged, gently detaching Babs and turning away, surreptitiously dropping a sheaf of papers as he did so.

After all, what was the harm in letting the boy see the file for a rather unusual murder case?


	15. On the Case

**Black and Red Chapter 15 On the Case**

"Right, Oracle, I have some crime scenes to examine," Red Robin said, slipping his wings on and clipping the harness tight. "I want you to find something else we can investigate on your own."

"What?" Oracle said. "But you said we'd be working the murders…"

"Yeah, but it's not as if that's the only crime happening out there," Red replied, exasperated. "What's the situation with the mob? Has anyone taken over from Falcone and Maroni, or has their empire fractured? Who runs guns? What about drugs? Does one person have a monopoly on all narcotics, or do different people control different interests? Who controls the trade in cannabis; cocaine; crack; heroin; ecstasy; barbiturates? What about human trafficking? Pick something; find out everything from the police, from the courts, whoever would know these things. Put together a plan of action, who to spy on, who to interrogate and such. Then we'll see what's to be done."

"Right…" Oracle muttered. "The mob, or guns, or drugs, or…human trafficking?"

Red Robin frowned. "You might want to give that one a miss actually," he said. She was still very naïve, and _that_ would kill her innocence fastest. A slightly more gradual descent would be kinder.

"Mob, guns, drugs; police, courts…how about the papers?"

"No. Never go to the media for a case. Either they're not interested or they're wrong, with very few exceptions." Red Robin paused for a moment. "If you're looking for someone in the public eye, they might help fill in some blanks, and you can use them to release information to the public in a controlled fashion."

"Huh. Done that a lot?" Oracle asked idly, turning to the computer.

"Oh yeah," Red Robin replied, pulling his gloves on and checking the security system. "Mostly to muddy the waters with regards to identities crossing."

"Sounds complicated."

"Well, if you can get supposedly concrete evidence in the papers of your civilian and night-time identities in two different places at the same time, it makes it difficult for someone to draw a line between the two." He ran his stick of mask glue across the back of the thick polymer strip, placed it over his eyes, and flicked the switch to arm the hidden electric system. A quick check of his suit, boots and gloves, belts and wings, mask settled, good to go.

"So the papers are only good to check off background information and deliver our own scoops. How do I pick what to research?"

"I'd start with the mob," Red Robin shrugged. "If you know who calls the shots, it gives you a head start when you look at who controls aspects of the crime underworld. I've got to go, my comm's on if you need me." He slid out the window, fired off a line, and swept out into the night.

* * *

Jim Gordon surveyed the scene of the crime. Being called out in his off hours wasn't fun, especially not at night, especially not the second murder like this in one day. On the way out, he'd made sure to tell his wife exactly where he was going while passing Rob's guest room. With luck, the teen was still in and would pick up the hint to meet him at the scene.

As he walked across the victim's living room, the victim's corpse visible in the kitchen sat at the table, he dismissed the officers to wait outside for the forensics boys. A shadow in one corner shifted, the black-and-red clad vigilante materializing from the gloom.

"That was quick," Jim said gruffly.

"I try," Red replied mildly. "You've been seeing cases like this for about four and a half months, correct?"

"More or less," Jim agreed. "The only identifying sign seems to be the posture. Everyone is laid out in a lifelike position, as if they merely died in the process of their normal lives, even though their throats are cut. Beyond that, there's no clear pattern. Most are female, between twenty and forty years of age, killed alone in their own homes with signs of forced entry, but there are exceptions to all of those. No signs of sexual assault, at least not yet…"

"M-hm," Red agreed absently. "There are usually signs of a struggle?" He moved over to an overturned coffee table and a couch bearing some blood splatters.

"Usually at least blood somewhere other than around the body," Jim concurred. "About what you'd expect if the killer surprised them and was strong enough to overpower them but not always immediately. Not as if he murdered them instantly, as the posture would most strongly indicate."

"Victim analysis?"

"This one?" Jim consulted the notebook shoved in his hand as he arrived. "Kate Lanshaw. 36. Executive assistant at a chemical company. Single, with a long term boyfriend. She likes to go for a jog every evening after getting home from work. Regular at the gym every Saturday."

"So she gets back from her run," Red mused. "Makes a pot of tea, presumably before starting dinner or some such. She hears an intruder breaking the lock on her door. Rushes to confront him. They struggle and he cuts her throat. He takes the body back into the kitchen, props it up in a chair and wraps her hand around the tea cup. Maybe he set up the tea set and poured the drink; maybe Kate did that before her killer arrived. The murderer leaves the same way he arrived. No-one suspects until…the boyfriend comes to find her?"

"She missed a date, and then didn't answer her phone," Jim elaborated. "You saw him outside with Montoya and Allen? Do you think he might have done it?"

"Yes, I did, and no, I don't," Red answered. "First, there's the similarity to numerous other cases. Second, he probably wouldn't report it himself; he'd just let her not turn up for work tomorrow. Third, when it's the partner who is the murderer, there's usually rape involved, and Kate's clothing doesn't look disturbed."

"Fourth, you recognise this from your homeworld."

"A hunch," Red allowed. "Could you take two steps backwards, please?"

Jim did so, and Red crouched down drawing Gordon's attention to a few discolourations on the carpet. "Blood," the boy murmured, pulling a small box from his belt and opening it to reveal a compact forensics kit.

"From when he moved the body?"

"It's not on a direct line," Red disagreed. He scooped up a small sample of the blood into a bottle and stood up. "Test it against the victim," he instructed, taking another blood sample from the corpse. "I'm fairly sure it won't match. Actually, do me a favour and test every blood splatter in the room. If I'm right then all the rest is Kate's. I would also guess that the scene of every murder showing these signs will have a few traces of the killer's blood separate from all the rest."

"I doubt _every_ murder would have that," Jim said.

"Well, from what I am surmising, there is a logical reason for it, whether or not it actually _happened_ ," Red admitted, stowing his forensics kit.

"I'll see what can be done," Jim nodded. "You should go now. My boys should be here any minute."

"Of course. I'll be in touch," Red said, and left out the window.

Jim bent down to examine the small smattering of blood droplets Red had spied, as footsteps on the stair announced the arrival of the GCPD's own forensics team. "Commissioner? Sir?"

"Sample all the blood in the apartment, especially this," Jim ordered, straightening up. "Compare it to the victim. I want to know if anyone else bled in here. And fingerprint the tea set. Let's see just who's touched it lately."

* * *

Not having his own labs, Red Robin had to improvise. Wayne Enterprises hadn't done any investigation into genetics he could hijack, and he couldn't really use the police labs. That left either another company, or an academic institute.

It being August, the colleges would be nearly empty (even if it _wasn't_ nearly midnight). There were two in Gotham: CGC, Central Gotham College, which focused on science and technology; and Gotham County College, which favoured arts and humanities. CGC would have a small number of lecturers and research students working over the summer, and back in his own world, Dick studied Forensics and Criminology there, which made it almost ideal. Low traffic plus specialized labs; what more could he want?

College buildings were easy to break into, anyway.

Red slipped through the dark corridors, not risking the lights lest he attract the security guards' attention. Isolating the DNA would take only a few hours, but after that he'd have to leave the break-down of the nucleotide sequence until the following night. No matter; that would give him time to spread his wings a bit, stop some street crime, find some way to get that accursed Demon Bird name out of the papers, see what his little Oracle had for him…

Busy, busy, busy. But right now, playing-around-with-bodily-fluids time.

* * *

Oracle tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and kept reading. Numerous reports from both the police archives and the court transcripts, backed up by features from the Gotham Gazette, had given her a decent overview of the mob situation.

Before Carmine Falcone was caught, he had practically a complete monopoly over organised crime. There were teenage street gangs, and a few competitors trying and mostly failing to muscle in. After Falcone's fall, his lieutenant Sal Maroni had mostly taken over, although the competitors were finally starting to take hold. And then following Dent's mass prosecution, the organizations fractured. Falcone's children were now fighting over the remains of the empire, the other gangs were consolidating their positions, and a new boss was steadily gaining territory- mostly from the Falcones.

Hmm.

Most of the gangs could be traced back some way. For instance, the Black Disciple Nation had traditionally controlled the trade in crack cocaine all across the country since the drug's development, and the local chapter had reclaimed it after Falcone's fall. Other gangs had geographic roots. But this new one seemed strictly opportunistic. Reports of hold-ups and such by people not fitting the profile of the previous local gangsters, rumours of new protection rackets, dead drug pushers from rival gangs…the conclusion was obvious.

She reached up and touched her comm. "Red Robin? I have something. There's a new gang making a takeover bid."

* * *

Babs and Rob drooped over the breakfast table. Rob had required a coffee before he could even begin to hold a conversation. Babs' father seemed just as exhausted as he brought in the morning paper.

"That was a busy night," Gordon grunted, looking at the cover.

"Those murders?" Rob asked.

"Well, that and this." Gordon threw the paper onto the table, and Babs and Rob both leaned over the picture taking up most of the front page.

It depicted someone's forehead, with pen marks scrawling over it reading "I got caught by Red Robin". The headline said _"'Demon Bird' Reveals Name"_.

"I guess we know his name now," Rob said blithely.

"One could argue that due to the name, with a reference to a bird rather than a nocturnal flying mammal, this new guy is completely unrelated to Batman, despite his portrayal as a successor and possible accomplice to him," Babs added mildly.

Barbara Senior and James Junior stared at them. Gordon sighed. "What are you two thinking?"

"Oh, lots of things," Rob said.

Babs nodded. "New vigilante. Isn't it exciting?"

Both their lips curled into barely noticeable smirks.


	16. Work To Be Done

**Black and Red Chapter 16 Work To Be Done**

Tim tapped away on his keyboard, watching his files scroll across the screen. He always kept a copy of the pertinent details from each file with him just in case, and he wanted to check his lists of DNA profiles. Babs wasn't with him; mindful of her drastic change in habits, Tim had convinced her to return to more normal activities like watching television with her brother. Also, it stopped her reading the files over his shoulder. She was too young and inexperienced to see some of the nastier details.

It was... a pity that she was having such trouble adjusting. He really should have realised that this Babs would end up just as hooked as his own world's version. He'd gone on the assumption that the mild thrill that came with mission control, while enough to sate the addiction, would not be enough to get her deeply into the lifestyle. He just completely failed to factor in her brush with Two-Face.

It was true that by making her Oracle he was most likely saving her from going out as Batgirl or seeking out chances to illicitly fight crime on her own and getting in over her head. Tim hadn't considered that that was the case when he started teaching her, but it was the logical conclusion. Her subsequent actions and reactions confirmed that he would have to teach her Oracle's trade, and quite likely also how to hold her own on the streets. Barbara Gordon had never given up, and the best he could hope for would be to persuade her to wait until she was old and strong enough.

* * *

Jim Gordon closed the file. The comprehensive round of DNA analysis ordered would take a hefty chunk out of the budget, but with luck he could persuade the mayor to extend it somewhat due to the circumstances. Catching the killer due to the tests would almost guarantee an increase in funding; he just hoped the kid knew what he was talking about. It was exceedingly rare to have so much genetic analysis done for one case, even one suspected of being linked to several more.

Pulling the next report in the pile towards him, he glanced towards the window, and hoped his guest would come visit.

* * *

Babs couldn't concentrate on the Disney channel cartoons. For some reason, the possibility of a new gang taking charge of the Gotham underworld seemed slightly more important. She started mentally scrolling through all the reports she'd read the previous night. Rob had given her a list of factors to consolidate about the new player. Territory, characteristics of gang members, what weapons tended to be used, any specific emblems that identified members. He'd said those would help work out who was in charge and therefore who to target.

She hummed to herself, completely ignoring the TV. There appeared to be no immediately determinable link between apparent members, but geographical location of hits may give hints. She'd need a map to be sure. Maybe Rob could get her one?

Hmm, Rob seemed to suspect something. Perhaps something similar to events in his own world? Maybe he could give her a list of things to check out.

Now, what did those reports say about weaponry?

Her thoughts were derailed as the object of her affection – um, her mentor – passed through the room in his civilian clothing, the small bag he kept his costume in on his back. "Just going out for a bit," he said blithely. "Should be back before dinner. Have fun."

As he left, Babs looked over at her brother, his attention completely fixed on the television screen, and wondered if she could sneak back to the computer without him noticing.

* * *

The window in the Commissioner's office slid open, and Jim glanced over as the teen vigilante slipped inside. "Took your time," he grunted.

"Didn't know I was on the clock," Red Robin replied. "How's your investigation going?"

"Haven't heard back from the lab yet," Jim answered. "What about on your end?"

"I only got part way through my analysis," the kid shrugged. "So far, it looks like my theory is correct."

"You know who the killer is?"

"I'm almost certain, yes," Red Robin nodded. "Of course I could be wrong, but it all fits the modus operandi."

Jim frowned. "What about motivation?"

The teen smirked. "Remind me. What's Joker's motivation?"

"Chaos, mayhem, death and destruction…I take it it's something similar," Jim said.

"Not quite, but similar enough," Red Robin shrugged. "Here's the DNA profile of my suspect." He handed over a slip of paper with a series of numbers laid out in a particular pattern.

Jim took the page and skimmed over it. "Have you tracked your suspect yet?"

"No, I was going to do that later," Red Robin replied. "Just thought you'd appreciate it if I dropped by first."

"I'd _appreciate_ it if you kept your tracking low-key," Jim responded.

"It won't be traced back to Red Robin," the boy promised. "By the way, about the mob situation…"

* * *

Tim sat on the edge of a roof, digging through the cosmetic supplies in one of his arm-belts. He had a neat and tidy plan to get a tracer bug in the person of his suspect, but needed a few more bits of equipment first. And a convincing disguise. Just enough to hide himself.

He flicked open a set of coloured contacts, and slipped the discs into his eyes, not needing to check to know his normally sky-blue orbs now appeared to be a dull brown. A quick stroke of a makeup applicator added a fake knife scar down one side of his face. Slightly cliché piece of disguise, but what worked, worked.

He was just missing one thing. His civilian clothing actually consisted of spare pieces of police uniform; black pants rolled up at the ankle and a blue blouse, as none of the men's shirts would fit him. He needed a jacket to cover the somewhat conspicuous shirt.

He jumped down, bouncing lightly and noiselessly from windowsill to windowsill until he landed on the sidewalk next to a charity donations clothes box. Checking the coast was clear, he dived into the box and pulled out a jacket, whispering a quick apology and promising himself to drop something else back in later.

Right, now to mug a mugger…


	17. Some Work Is Fun, Some Isn't

**Black and Red Chapter 17 Some Work Is Fun, Some Isn't**

Tim lurked in the shadows, trying to resist the urge to smirk. His prey didn't have a clue; it was just so easy to do basically whatever he needed to. Of course, he'd probably change his mind when he started doing something a bit trickier. But stalking suspects had always been surprisingly difficult; it hadn't taken criminals too long to work out Bats tended to follow them when they were doing something serious. Here, that seemed a negligible concern.

He flitted between shadows, watching his target. He ran parallel to the street the man walked down, aiming for a certain alley. He slipped down it just as his target passed. Tim emerged, snuck up behind him, and pressed a stolen switchblade to his side. "Just come this way, and no-one will get bloody," Tim said in a low, husky voice. The man froze, body tensing, but not in a pattern consistent with readying for action He steered the man back into the alley, then rapped him sharply on the head with a cudgel. He'd taken the weapons from a mugger, eliciting some guilt; after all, Jason had been a street thief before Bruce found him simply due to lack of options. But the man he'd lifted the knife and club from was plenty old enough to get a legitimate job, so he might have actually helped him get onto the straight and narrow.

Tim knelt by his victim, and carefully peeled the man's sleeves away from his arms. A series of tally marks were carved into the skin, some old enough to have formed scars, newer ones half-healed. On the left arm, some of the marks were covered with Band-Aids. Tim carefully peeled off each Band-Aid, and selected the most recent cut. Using his stolen knife to tease open the wound, he slipped a miniature tracer into it and concealed it under the flap of torn flesh. Gently replacing the Band-Aids, Tim pulled the sleeves back down; and then stole the man's wallet, watch and cell phone, just to give him a reason to have been clubbed down.

A few minutes later, Tim was sat on a quiet patch of rooftop, rifling through the wallet and pulling out the bank cards and driver's licence. He pocketed the licence, but snapped and discarded the other cards. He checked the phone – locked. Hacking in, he ran through the call registers, texts and photos, but as there was nothing incriminating there, he carefully dropped it onto a bulging trash bag in the adjacent alley. Someone would find it, and no doubt fence it. Not his problem.

Tim got to his feet and headed off towards the police headquarters, stopping only to jump down to the charity clothes donation box he'd raided earlier and slip the wallet of cash and the watch into it.

Arriving at the building, he took a moment to remove his colored contacts and wipe off the fake scar before sneaking in the window to see the Commissioner.

"You're back very quickly," Gordon said as Tim sat down opposite him.

"I had a bit of luck," Tim shrugged. "I thought you might want to know."

"What have you got for me?"

"This is the driving licence of my suspect," Tim said, placing the small plastic rectangle on the desk. "And this switchblade has some of his blood on it."

Gordon picked up the card. "Victor Zsasz?"

* * *

"So, if we plot the locations of suspect incidents, we see them all in this section here," Babs said, looking at the road map she'd covered with sticky dots. "So that's the new gang's territory?"

"Quite likely," Rob agreed. "But can I see the dates for each incident?"

"Um, right." Babs flicked through the list of incidents, and scrawled dates on each little dot. "There…we…go," she said as she finished.

"Ah, so it's a little more interesting," Rob said. "You see that the earliest reports are confined to this block here? And then they reach out, so later incidents have a wider reach. But some of the businesses report repeat extortions. What do you make of that?"

Babs frowned. "The gangsters don't usually bother with returning to a place they've already been to?"

"That would be unusual. What would be a more likely explanation?"

"…they're not reporting the second time?"

"Very likely, especially as the longer they expand, the fewer reports per street," Rob nodded. "It's the intimidation factor. We should be glad we've got as many reports as we have. Do you have any leads regarding who's in the new gang?"

"Well, we can't tell if they tend to be of any particular racial origin," Babs shrugged. "They all tend to be wearing masks. Not like yours; they tend to be more like…carnival masks. For the most part, at least. A few of other styles."

"Masks?" Rob said, frowning slightly. "Hang on. I'm checking cameras. Continue. Weapons?"

"Mostly small firearms, switchblades, the occasional other bit of gear," Babs reported.

"Normal for a street gang," Rob told her. "Let's see…hmm, interesting."

A scene of several masked men sticking up a shopkeeper played across the computer screen. "Does it help you identify them?" Babs asked.

"Gives a hint, but nothing conclusive," Rob muttered. "I have to go out again. Look here. See this program? It's hooked up to a tracer I put in the suspect for the murders. It was a nightmare trying to reprogram it to use local satellites, but no matter. I need you to keep an eye on that. If he leaves this block, call me. See you later."

Rob finished pulling on his boots, gloves and belts, slid his mask over his eyes and flipped out the window.

* * *

Red Robin returned to the lab in CGC he'd borrowed. It was the work of but a moment to get the machines running. And then…wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Unfortunately, with crime stalking the streets, it was hard to wait for more than fifteen minutes or so.

And the gangsters in masks struck a most unpleasant memory…

Checking to make sure the activity in the lab couldn't be seen from outside the lab itself, Red Robin left. He jumped up to the roof and ran, jumping from building to building, gliding on his wings here, using the grapple there, crossing the city, heading for the centre of the gang activity.

He reached the approximate location, an old townhouse in more than a little disrepair. A light shone from a vent leading to the cellar. Red Robin jumped down lightly, pulling a trash can over to give him some cover, the vent in a corner between the wall and the stairs up to the door. He crouched, and looked through the vent.

In the cellar, one man stood above many others on a small podium, two men flanking him. Each man wore a mask, but Red Robin focused on the man in charge. His skull-styled mask covered virtually his whole head, and was made of black wood. It gave his face a fearful, macabre look to it. Red Robin had to restrain the urge to charge straight in and smash the man in the face – the mere presence of him was enough to provoke extreme feelings of anger, and fear.

"Thespis, Tupeng," the man said. "My loyal men, I now tell you, we, the False Face Society, will take the city by storm. It will be ours within the month. We will overwhelm the police and the streets will be ours for the taking!"

Red Robin watched, more than a little worried, as he listened to the outlined plans.


	18. One End, Another Beginning

**Black and Red Chapter 18 One End, Another Beginning**

Red Robin crouched on the roof watching the door directly below him, and activated his comm. "Oracle, get cameras on the following building," he ordered, quickly giving her the address. "Anyone who comes out, follow them. I want to know where they go, what they do, who they are. Everything."

" _Right,_ " Oracle answered. " _Gimme a few minutes._ " The line went quiet. " _Okay, I see you now,_ " she reported. " _I'm keeping watch for – oh, drat!_ " she exclaimed. " _The other guy I was watching is on the move._ "

Red Robin cursed quietly in Arabic. "I'm headed to his last position," he said, jumping up and heading off. "Relay to me each move he makes."

" _He's left his house and turned south,_ " she read off. The instructions continued, and Red Robin quickly built up his mental map with his destination changing ever so slightly. It half-distracted him from the fact that while he was racing to (hopefully) prevent another murder, there was a whole mob about to hit the streets and cause its own brand of chaos. Oh, and the tests he'd left running in the CGC; he'd have to remember to collect the results and cover his tracks.

He landed on a roof where he could see Zsasz. "I'm in the vicinity now," he advised Oracle. "Keep watching my previous location."

" _No activity there yet,_ " she told him. " _The murderer?_ "

"On his tail." He kept quiet as he shadowed his prey, jumping from roof to roof to keep Zsasz in view. Eventually, the murderer entered an apartment block. Red Robin cursed internally. "Oracle, is there CCTV in this block?"

" _One second…yeah. Shall I try to find him?_ "

"Yes; I need to know who he's after."

" _Right. He's in the elevator…lemme check…he pushed the button for the sixth floor._ "

Red Robin quickly counted the floors, and pinpointed a window in the hallway of the sixth floor. He reached into his gloves and flicked out a pair of inbuilt climbing hooks, then reached into the toe of his boots and extended some crampons. After carefully judging the distance, he jumped.

He slammed into the wall, twisting his wrists and angling his feet to anchor himself next to the window with his hooks and spikes. Shifting his weight, he managed to keep watch on the elevator while remaining in shadow himself. The door slid open, and Zsasz emerged.

Red Robin watched his quarry, shifting and at one point dropping down a little and scurrying under the window to watch from the other side. Zsasz stopped outside one of the apartments, and pulled a knife from his pocket, jamming it into the lock.

Red Robin touched his comm. "Oracle, call the cops," he ordered. "Tell them there's a murder being attempted here, in apartment 6-3. Disguise your voice, and hang up before they can trace you."

" _Yes, Red Robin,_ " Oracle replied. " _Should I use 141?_ "

"Yes, do that," he agreed, disappointed that he hadn't thought of it himself. The phone they kept in the cave was set to automatically hide the number, and he'd simply forgotten to take that into account.

He pulled himself onto the outside windowsill as Zsasz finished popping the lock. Jamming a batarang into the crack where the stationary window met the open-able section, he levered it open, cut through the safety bar with a dribble from a bottle of high-strength acid and slipped inside.

Padding down the corridor, he hurried into apartment 6-3. Just inside the open doorway, Zsasz was crouched over the occupant, a young woman struggling desperately, his hand over her mouth. Red Robin threw the batarang, and it spun into Zsasz's arm, forcing him to release his grip on the woman, who immediately drew in a deep breath and screamed. Red Robin charged, crashing into the grappling pair, and knocked all three of them to the floor. He rolled upright in an instant and reached into his belt, and spun out and extended his staff.

Zsasz returned to his feet and brandished his knife. "Strange zombie, so eager to be liberated," he hissed. Red Robin resisted the urge to roll his eyes, flicking his staff into a defensive position and watching for Zsasz's movement.

The murderer lunged, and the teen spun the staff to block the knife blade. Another twist, and the knife fell to the floor. Red Robin advanced, his foot sweeping out and pulling Zsasz's legs from under him. He twisted, slipped around behind Zsasz, and knelt on his back. He grabbed Zsasz's skull and yanked his head back, his other hand pulling his wrists together. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the would-be murder victim's terrified breathing, neighbours on the phone, and some sounds from the end of the corridor.

"Why are you doing this?" he snarled, knowing his voice was carrying. "Why are you killing?"

"Killing?" Zsasz said, writhing under Red Robin's admittedly slender weight. "I merely seek to liberate the zombies from the monotony they call life."

"How many?" Red Robin demanded. "How many have you 'liberated'?"

"I mark them off, every one," Zsasz giggled. "Marks drawn on the flesh for ever zombie. I'll find a special place, just for you. Inside the eyelid, perhaps."

"No thanks," Red Robin answered. "Not for me." He looked up at two cops standing in the doorway, guns drawn and pointed at him and Zsasz, uncertainty in their eyes.

"I will free you from this existence!" Zsasz hissed.

"That's what they all say," Red Robin drawled, and slammed Zsasz's head into the floor, knocking him out.

He looked at the cops, meeting their eyes, and carefully rose off Zsasz's back. He reached for his staff, and saw the nervousness increase in their eyes. He spun the metal shaft, collapsing it into its smallest form, and tucked it back into its pouch. He then held out his hands, showing how empty they were, and carefully stepped away from Zsasz.

The cops didn't know what to do; he could see it writ loud on their faces. He knew they'd heard every word Zsasz had said, and gestured to him. "Here is your murderer," he said calmly. "You may wish to cuff him before he wakes. He will probably confess, and he has most likely left drops of blood at the scene of each of his murders."

"Who are you?" the younger of the two cops asked nervously.

"Red Robin," he replied. "I'm just here to help out."

"Like the Bat was?" the cop asked sceptically.

"I cannot speak for him," Red Robin answered.

Oracle's voice sounded in his ear. " _We have activity,_ " she reported. " _Stick up in a late night convenience store, corner of Green Street and Rushworth Avenue. It's those men you wanted me to watch for and follow; they look like they'll shoot whether or not the guy cooperates._ "

"Corner of Green Street and Rushworth Avenue, convenience store stick up, violence likely," Red Robin repeated, fingers on the comm and eyes fixed on the cops.

" _Ah, and, um…_ " Oracle hesitated. " _There's a lot of activity, multiple locations._ "

"The gang's active?" Red Robin asked.

" _Looks like it._ "

"On my way." He looked at the policemen. "You're going to be busy tonight. I can't be everywhere, but I'll do what I can. I suggest you let me."

"If you think we'll let you swan off and do what you like-" the younger cop started.

"You've got bigger problems than me," Red Robin replied. "And you can't catch me."

He turned and charged for the open window he'd spotted behind him. Throwing himself out, he flared his wings and flew off.

It would be a busy night.


	19. Police Reaction

**Black and Red Chapter 19 Police Reaction**

Tim tumbled into his room at the Gordons' around five in the morning, completely exhausted. He'd sent Babs to bed a good hour previous, and then headed back to CGC to retrieve his test results that proved, surprise surprise, that his blood sample had indeed come from Victor Zsasz. Hiding his tracks and a few unplanned encounters with early morning crooks had kept him busy for a bit longer, until the sun was well on its way up.

The Commissioner was waiting for him. Gordon looked nearly as worn out as Tim felt. "What can I do for you?" Tim asked quietly, starting to strip off his gear.

"You can start with what you've been doing all night," Gordon replied.

"Stopping a murder, then running around limiting the gang activity," Tim answered, pulling off his gloves and dropping them on the bed.

"You interacted with a number of my people," Gordon accused.

"Do they have any protest regarding my conduct?" Tim queried. His mask joined the gloved, and he scrubbed the remains of the glue from his face.

"Overly violent," Gordon recounted. "Mysterious, secretive-"

"I was markedly more open last night than on many other occasions," Tim protested, sitting down to pull off his boots.

"How did you know where the crime was?" Gordon asked.

"I found the place where the new gang, the False Face Society, were meeting before beginning their offensive," Tim explained. "I had cameras in place to trace the progress of everyone leaving the site."

"Who were you working with?"

"One of our people." Tim removed his belts and retracted his wings before slipping off the harness. "Oracle. The information broker."

"You got one of the Bat's people to help you?" Gordon asked incredulously.

"No. Oracle is _my_ asset," Tim contradicted. "Back home, Oracle has worked with us for a number of years in a support role. I managed to recruit my own Oracle here."

"And you're very carefully giving nothing away about your Oracle's identity," Gordon grunted. Tim smiled. "What can you tell me about the gang?"

"The False Face Society is run by Black Mask," Tim reported. "His real name is Roman Sionis. I'd have to check his history to see if he's the same as I remember. In my world, he was largely insane. He failed in legitimate business and so started a gang partly to get revenge but also to gain the success he earlier failed to achieve. For various reasons he ended up being a major player in a citywide gang war. The war was eventually brought under control, and shortly after Sionis was found with a bullet in his skull."

"Who killed him?" Gordon asked softly.

"I don't know," Tim said shortly. "It wasn't one of us."

Gordon nodded. "How involved were you?"

"In the war? I wasn't." Gordon looked incredulous and Tim continued. "It's complicated, but I was benched through practically the whole thing." Tim glanced away, biting his lip. "I got called back when my girlfriend was rescued from Mask's clutches near dead. I did not kill him, but I was glad someone did." Gordon looked slightly shocked, slightly saddened by the admission. "We're only human," Tim whispered. "Some things we just can't forgive, for all we may not act upon them."

Gordon nodded. "I'm sorry," he said. "Your girlfriend?"

"Spoiler," Tim said. "She survived. She was out of action for some time recuperating, but she's better now, and she's really improved at what we do since then."

"I see," Gordon mused. He frowned. "We're going to have a fair few nights like this one coming up, then."

Tim hesitated. "I'm…afraid not," he said hesitantly. "You see, the other gangs were caught off-guard. They weren't able to defend their territory. Tomorrow they'll start fighting back. It's going to be much _worse_ than tonight."

Gordon sighed. "I don't suppose you have any recommendations?"

Tim shrugged. "Shut down the cause and hope that knocks down everyone else," he replied. "But at the same time respond as quickly as possible to every disturbance."

Gordon stared at him, contemplating something. "You're good at locating disturbances quickly."

"Oracle's very good."

"Perhaps you could introduce us."

"No, I don't think so," Tim refused quickly. "But…I may be willing to get you a line of contact."

"One of our radios?"

"That will work, yes," Tim accepted. He yawned. "Anything else that can't wait?"

"No," Gordon answered. "Get some sleep."

"I will," Tim murmured as Gordon left. He quickly pulled off his suit and tucked his gear under the bed. Quickly slipping on a T-shirt on top of his boxers, he slid into bed and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

Jim Gordon arrived at the GCPD HQ a little late and very tired. It wasn't surprising; he had been up most of the night with Zsasz's arrest and then the massive numbers of incidents all propagated by gang members in carnival masks. Luckily for him, his subordinates were aware of it and gave him a wide berth until the second cup of coffee. By that point, he'd flicked through all of the night's reports, and made a decision.

One of the meeting rooms was half full of a special selection of Gordon's officers. Gordon entered, and waited for them to register his presence. "You all interacted with Red Robin last night," he started straight in.

"Sir?" one of the men asked.

"All of you, last night, encountered the vigilante Red Robin at the scene of one crime or another," Gordon stated. "I want your opinions on him."

"He's young," another offered. "Can't be more than fifteen, and I'd guess a year or two younger. Practically a kid. What's _he_ doing playing at being the Bat?"

"Very violent," one of the women supplied. "Saw him take three armed men, all bigger than him and better armed, and he had them on the floor in less than thirty seconds. One break, two dislocations and concussions all round."

"He's skilled, yeah, but not overly aggressive," a man disagreed. "He was fast and effective, but I don't think he was being necessarily violent. He certainly could have caused a lot more damage than he did."

"Not very talkative," someone else chipped in. "He appeared, dealt with the problem, gave out a few more addresses and vanished again."

"So he was in a rush," another person deduced. "I guess he was taking what was going on fairly seriously."

"How did he react to your presence?" Gordon asked.

"Didn't seem to care," one officer shrugged.

"No, I think he appreciated it," another disagreed. "We caught him hitching a ride clinging to the roof of our patrol car, didn't we, Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "He hopped off, yelled his thanks, and reappeared a moment later with the threat dealt with. Passed on another location and ran off."

"Was all last night just us following his tips?" one of the men frowned. "What if he was manipulating us?"

"He gave out more addresses than he was seen, or known to be, at," Gordon informed them. "Between us and him, we got more than if it had just been him. And if it wasn't for him passing on the information, would we have known where to go?"

"Sir, the incident we were sent to deal with was about to turn into a hostage situation," one of the women offered. "He went straight in. None of the potential hostages were harmed, other than being a bit rattled. I don't know how he did it. We couldn't have dealt with it nearly as quickly."

"So he's capable, fairly informative, violent but not unnecessarily so, and appreciative of our presence," Gordon concluded.

"Sir, if I may speak freely?" one of the men asked. Gordon nodded. "You worked with Batman on numerous occasions," the man continued. "It sounds like you want a similar relationship with Red Robin."

"We benefited from working with Batman before the Dent incident," Gordon pointed out. "It may have been irregular, but he did provide more than a little assistance."

"Sir, he acted against the SWAT teams sent after the Joker's clowns," one of the women reminded him.

"And if he hadn't, we would have inadvertently killed the hostages and got a large number of our men killed," Gordon pointed out. "Besides, do have any indications that Red Robin intends to act against us?"

The various policemen and women exchanged glances. "He has shown no interest in cooperating with us," one of them said. "Other than hitting people for us and giving us locations, and that one time he hitched a lift, he doesn't appear to want anything to do with us."

"Thank you," Gordon said. "Dismissed."


	20. Scary Allies

**Black and Red Chapter 20 Scary Allies**

"So what are we doing today?" Babs asked, stifling a yawn over the breakfast table.

Tim looked up at her bleary eyed, nursing his coffee and half-ignoring his cornflakes. "Nothing," he answered. He glanced at Mrs Gordon, seeing she was out of earshot, and continued. "We're going back to bed for another few hours."

"Okay," Babs said, looking slightly disappointed, but as her jaw was stretched in a massive yawn, her eyes smiled.

When the food was all gone, the pair returned to their rooms, but contrary to his words, Tim did not go to sleep. He pulled out an old walkie-talkie he'd retrieved from the scrapyard when he was gathering the pieces for his computer. Spreading his tool kit across the bed, Tim pried the back off and started reconfiguring the microphone. If Oracle was going to be communicating with the Police, she'd need a vocal distortion unit.

While he worked, Tim ran through his memory of each incident. It had been standard work, other than the sheer volume. The incidents had all been in the same area that was outlined earlier as "False Face" territory, except for about half a dozen that were just over the borders. There had been no altercations with rival gangs as yet, but it was only a matter of time.

It only took an hour or so to cobble together his distorter. Then he pulled out the map of Gotham and carefully marked out all the new incidents.

There was bound to be pattern he could trace.

Twenty minutes passed and nothing came to mind. Sighing and deciding to leave it for when Babs had had some more sleep, Tim switched on the computer and started researching Roman Sionis.

* * *

Gordon called Crispus Allen and Renee Montoya into his office. They were some of his best on the murder squad, and had done some work in the Joker case, although no-one had any luck there. With the new crisis, he wanted to assign his best to work with Red Robin.

"You two," he started. "Your opinions on this Red Robin?"

"Not much of one," Allen shrugged. "Haven't seen him, haven't met him, could be a good person to work with, could be disastrous."

"I'm not so sure," Montoya offered. "We thought the Bat was helpful, if uncontrollable. How can we know Red Robin won't be the same?"

"He's younger, for one," Gordon grunted. "You seen what happened last night?"

The partners exchanged a glance. "A lot of nasty business," Allen answered.

"He has access to a lot of useful information," Gordon explained. "If he'll work with us, we can contain the problems easier."

"And you think you can trust him?" Montoya asked.

"What harm can it do?" Gordon asked.

"Well, if he's working for whoever started this mess, he could lead us all into a trap," Montoya answered.

"Or he could go insane and kill us," Allen added.

"He could do both anyway," Gordon pointed out. "If he's with us, we'll be nearby to take him down."

"How did he know where all the incidents were before us?" Montoya asked.

"Maybe if we stop trying to arrest him he'll tell us," Gordon suggested.

Allen nodded slowly, although Montoya still looked dubious. "How can we contact him?" he asked.

"Even if that signal on the roof wasn't destroyed, it would bring the wrong person," Montoya muttered.

"We found a small tracer embedded in Victor Zsasz's arm," Gordon grunted. "Assuming it's his, he may come for it."

"If it's a tracer, we can send him wherever we want," Montoya pointed out.

"Agreed," Gordon smiled. "The roof?"

"Yes, sir," Allen sighed.

* * *

Red Robin dropped onto the roof of the GCPD, landing directly on top of the smashed signal. His boots were noiseless, giving him a moment to watch the three cops watching for him, before getting bored and clearing his throat.

They jumped, and Red Robin resisted the urge to smirk.

Montoya drew her firearm, but kept it pointed at the floor. Red Robin could see tension and wariness, but not aggressiveness and concluded she didn't trust him, but wasn't in shoot-on-sight mode.

"You have something of mine," Red Robin growled. He knew he couldn't growl as much as B, but he had been reasonably reliably informed that it was a good way to make him sound serious, business-like and just the right side of scary.

Gordon held up the miniature tracer he'd left in Zsasz's cut. "I assume you mean this?" the Commissioner said rhetorically.

Red Robin held out a single hand. "How can I help you?" he asked politely, taking back his gadget as it was returned to him.

"The recent spike in gang activity," Gordon started. "You gave a lot of locations to our people last night. Will you continue to pass on this information?"

"I can't be everywhere," Red Robin shrugged. He'd anticipated this since he and Gordon struck their bargain in the early hours of that morning and had merely been waiting, hacking the GCPD's records and using them to make up his files for all the people he'd caught last night. "Of course."

Gordon held out a police radio. "Contact us on this," he said.

"I'll pass it my information broker," Red Robin replied, taking it and tucking it in his belt.

"Information broker?" Allen asked dubiously.

"Yes. Oracle," Red Robin revealed. "Oracle monitors various cameras and passes along locations to me."

"You won't talk to us yourself?" Montoya asked.

"I can talk over the communicators to the radio," Red Robin replied, slightly irritated with her. In his home, Montoya had been wary of the Bats, but loosened up somewhat after she took over as the Question, although she had no great affection for them. "It's a bit tricky to use a radio this big when running over rooftops."

"Do you have an analysis of the situation?" Allen asked.

"I do, yes," Red Robin acknowledged. "Do you have a situation room?"

"Not yet," Gordon sighed. "My office?"

"Of course," Red Robin smiled.


	21. Planning Council

**Black and Red Chapter 21 Planning Council**

Red Robin had unrolled a map of Gotham across Commissioner Gordon's desk and was marking various points on it. "Here's where last night's crimes attributed to the False Face Society were," he said. "And these are the edges of the adjacent gangs' territory prior to the offensive." He drew several lines between the dots and picked up another colored pen. "These were the borders as of this morning." These lines circled around the dots.

Gordon examined the map. "These three gangs lost nearly half their territory and these two a quarter," he mused. "Big losses."

"And today the gangs started fighting back," Red Robin continued. "Here are gang fights, these are other crimes, and this is the border as of about an hour ago."

"At least it's confined to just one sector," Allen said.

"That won't last. These gangs share borders with the warring gangs; they'll try to expand. And then they'll end up fighting, so their neighbors will try to steal _their_ territory and so on."

"Come on, no gang leader is stupid enough to do that, not after the first few go wrong," Montoya snorted. "What do they have to gain?"

"Gang leaders don't actually have complete control of their men," Red Robin sighed. "Since the gangs realised they could make some cold money dealing drugs or through various other crimes, they got organized. But the only way for a junior to advance is to make a name for himself, so the rank and file do actually have an interest in fighting, even if it's against the interest of the gang as a whole."

Gordon frowned. "If we took out the leaders, the gangs would promote one of their own and keep fighting."

"Or start fighting each other for the top slots," Red Robin shrugged. "But whoever ends up in charge would have a rather vulnerable position-"

"And would redirect their gang's attention to their rivals," Gordon sighed.

"But it's more complicated than that because of the False Face Society," Red Robin continued. "It's more of a cult of personality, and they're organized. The boss, Black Mask, wants to take over the city, so his men are more focused. Look at what happened this afternoon. When the other gangs fought back, they defended some of their new territory and abandoned other parts." He traced a finger around the map. "They've let this one reclaim almost all their territory; why?" he muttered. "Why push against most, but yield to this one? Oh, I get it." He looked up at the trio of police officers. "They're leading this gang, East Eagles, into a trap. The Eagles will advance against the Faces, then the Faces will fold in, circle around, and take them out. The other gangs will be too busy defending their own borders to get involved."

"Do you have any ideas for our strategy?" Gordon asked. Montoya looked at him curiously and slightly incredulously, but he just shrugged.

"Oh yeah, lots," Red Robin said idly. "But it depends on what you want in terms of long-term versus short-term, how far you're willing to go in terms of levels of force, how much you'd let the gangs get away with as long as it stays between the gangs…" The police stared at him. "Well, I _could_ just break the arms of every gang member in Gotham, but I'd be bound to miss a few, and the media reaction would be absolutely horrendous," he suggested.

"Why not just kill them?" Montoya said snidely.

"I _don't_ kill people," Red Robin answered sharply. "Not intentionally, no matter how much I may want to."

"Yeah? Ever killed someone _unintentionally_?" Allen asked.

Red Robin paused, staring at the map without really seeing it. "Once," he admitted. "There were…unusual circumstances. There was a legitimate threat to my life, and a police investigation cleared me of culpability."

"Er, I think we'd know if that was true," Montoya said, crossing her arms.

"I wasn't Red Robin at the time," Red Robin said simply. "We can discuss this later. With regards the situation at hand, there are several options. We'll have to take Black Mask out; the False Face Society will collapse. But getting to him will be difficult without compromising any case you may want to build up against him. Dealing with the other gangs will be more complex. It may be possible to intimidate some into staying out of it, or to negotiate. Whether you'd want to compromise by dealing with criminals like that is up to you. The gangs are going to be mostly focused on each other, but they won't care who else gets hurt. I _can_ take out as many of the leaders as I can, which will keep most of the gangs busy with their own hierarchy. I can't promise that we can get convictions, but I don't mind injuring them enough to keep them home for a month. What would _you_ like to do?"

"Keep them off the civilians," Gordon grunted. "But without making it look like I'm depending on you, or letting the gangs off."

"Fair enough," Red Robin agreed. "I can pass you as many locations as possible for crimes and let your people sweep onto the scene. I can start investigating the gangs. I'd start with the Eagles; they'll be vulnerable when Mask closes his trap."

"You want to wait until after the Faces take out most of them before we move?" Montoya frowned. "Any particular reason?"

"In all honesty, I'd fear for the lives of any police officers moving against a gang at full strength," Red Robin admitted. "I'd be worried for my own safety. Nothing personal. And I don't care all that much for the gangsters themselves. That's what I'd recommend. Stay on the defensive until we have the information for an offensive."

"You make it sound like a war," Allen stated.

"Isn't it?"


	22. Breakthrough

**Black and Red Chapter 22 Breakthrough**

Red Robin crouched on the edge of the rooftop, taking a quick breather. Most of his actions that night had been damage limitation. Seven breaking-and-enterings, eight car jackings, twelve muggings, and four gang battles. Plus the active comm in his ear had informed him of nearly forty other crimes dealt with by the GCPD. It was now going on one in the morning, which meant he'd spent nearly six hours working.

A sharp yell attracted his attention. He glanced down, and saw three young men with a girl in her late teens pinned to a wall. The girl's blouse was ripped open, and one guy had his hand down her jeans. "No, Mart, I don't want-" the girl pleaded, before a firm grip on her throat choked her.

Red Robin acted instantly. A batarang in the hand on the girl's throat, and then he pulled out the blow pipe in his left glove. Three tranq darts, and he flipped down to tend to the victim.

The poor girl was hyperventilating. Red Robin crouched as she slid down the wall. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he told her. "You're safe. I won't hurt you. Nor will they. You'll be okay now."

"Marty, he- he-" she sobbed. "He said he loved me, but-"

"Shh, it's alright," Red Robin said soothingly. "He can't force you now." He glanced down, and pulled the jacket off one of the men and gently wrapped it around the distraught girl. "It's going to be okay."

"How can you know?" the girl demanded. "What's to stop him trying again? Damn him to hell; what did I do?" Tears ran down her face, and Red Robin hugged her, murmuring gently.

"He can't get you now, he won't touch you," he whispered. "You said no; he didn't listen. It's as clear as that. You just have to hold together for a little longer, okay?"

"Uh-huh," she sniffled, pulling back slightly.

"Alright, now hold on for a moment, can you do that?" She nodded, so Tim tapped his comm. "Oracle, you have my location? Footage?"

" _Yes to both,_ " the juvenile hacker answered. " _But I don't get-"_

"Send paramedics, cops, Montoya. One female casualty, about seventeen, eighteen, shock. Three male perps," Red Robin interrupted. "I'll call when I'm back on patrol. Red Robin out." He turned off the comm and very obviously removed it.

The girl gulped. "He said it was expected, that he had to do it or they'd ice him, and just take me anyway," she babbled. "An' the others said it was my fault for joining up and being with Marty anyway."

"What's your name?" Red Robin asked.

"Susie," she answered.

"Susie; that's a pretty name," he said. "Look, Susie, it's not your fault. You shouldn't have to consider if your guy was going to do this to you. And if he was going to disregard your choice in such a way, he didn't deserve you and probably didn't love you."

"The other girls said it happened to them, but Marty said I was special, that- that-" Susie wailed.

"You are special," Red Robin reassured her. "He just didn't care, but he can't hurt you now."

"But when he gets out of ER-"

"Do you want to press charges?" he interrupted. "If you do, he'll be locked up for quite some time, and you will be safe and can move on."

"My word against theirs," Susie said miserably.

Red Robin paused, considering the issue. He'd already made sure Oracle had the data needed, and he really did want these three prosecuted. Besides, it sounded like the girl had given him quite a break for dealing with the gangs. They just needed to set a precedent. "Susie," he decided. "I can provide video evidence to support you. You will win, and they will go to Blackgate."

Susie hugged him, eyes leaking again. "Thank you," she hiccupped. "I can't believe all this happened."

The slight whine of engines reached their ears. "There's paramedics coming; they'll look after you," Red Robin assured Susie. "And there'll be cops to take Marty and his friends. Okay?"

Susie nodded and disentangled herself. The ambulance arrived, and two men in scrubs came down. One opened the ambulance and pulled out a red shock blanket. The other came over and crouched next to the pair.

"What's your name, dear?" he asked as Red Robin moved out of the way.

"Susie Mellark," she replied nervously.

"And how old are you, Susie?" the paramedic continued.

"Seventeen next month."

Red Robin restrained a hiss. He hadn't realised how young the victim was; but then again, he was used to the concept of growing up fast. Still, that would seriously help the court case.

The next vehicle to arrive was Renee Montoya's unmarked car. She stepped out, nodded at the paramedics to continue, and sidled up to the vigilante. "What's this here?" she asked suspiciously.

"A serious violent crime I have no doubt is repeated a hundred times throughout the city," Red Robin said softly. "I'll explain more in a minute, if you don't mind."

Montoya glared, but any response was derailed by the arriving cop car. The policeman and –woman got out and came over, nodding respectfully but warily at the teen and their superior. "What are the crimes?" the female cop asked.

"Three males, attempted sexual assault of a minor," Red Robin reported. The paramedics stiffened where they tended Susie, and Montoya looked a lot more upset. "The victim would like to press charges."

"Of course," the policeman said, recovering swiftly. "Miss, if I may take your details?"

Susie glanced at Red Robin who nodded encouragingly. The sixteen-year-old gave the cop her name, address, date of birth and account of what happened. The cop promised to get in contact, and helped his partner with cuffing and pulling the boys into the car.

"Thank you," Susie said, looking directly at Red Robin. "You're not so much like the Bat as they say."

Red Robin tilted his head. There had been many comments on the difference between Bat and Bird styles, and it was striking to note how fast it was being noticed. "He tends to see the crime," he said honestly. "I see the victim."

Susie nodded, and the paramedic led her into the ambulance, wanting to get her a thorough examination. As the other professionals left, Montoya returned to Red Robin. "You were saying?"

"That kind of thing happens in pretty much every gang in Gotham," Red Robin said. "We find a way to prosecute, we get hundreds in cells."

"Why didn't we think about this earlier?" Montoya grumbled.


	23. Need-to-Know

**Black and Red Chapter 23 Need-to-Know**

Red Robin sat on the windowsill in the Commissioner's office, once again facing Gordon, Allen and Montoya. He'd hoped they could wait until the following evening before having another conference, but it couldn't wait.

"Quite simply, I overlooked an aspect of gang life that we can use to get a vast number of members off the street," he explained. "Gangs tend to have a number of girls, either female members or girlfriends of male members. These girls are often used as little more than a source of sex for the men, whether the girl wants it or not."

"How prevalent is that?" Gordon asked heavily.

"I don't know exact numbers, but most likely the vast majority of gang members have raped someone at least once," Red Robin replied. "I'd guess that the False Face Society hasn't started 'acquiring' girls yet; not sure about the past histories of the men that make it up."

Montoya was starting to look more than a little upset. "Okay, I get all that," she said. "But how, exactly, did you manage to miss the wholesale sexual exploitation of hundreds of girls?"

"Because I don't normally deal with sexual assault cases," Red Robin shrugged. "If we can set a precedent of championing the cause of these girls, we should be able to get other victims to come forward, and thus get more gangsters in cells. I certainly don't mind rounding people up for a police line-up. We can start with the three arrested tonight. How fast can we get a conviction?"

"What do you mean, you don't normally deal with sexual assault cases?" Montoya demanded, interrupting the conversation. "You don't bother with rape?"

"No, I mean it's not usually me who deals with it," Red Robin replied irritably. He was more than half annoyed with himself for forgetting about that aspect of gang life; generally Batgirl, Black Bat and Spoiler handled that, and he'd been sheltered from it until he was forced to confront a rape in progress during the No Man's Land debacle. But the only way to explain all that would be to expose his otherworldly origins.

Not that that would necessarily be a bad thing. It would allow them to accept his experience and knowledge, and possibly also persuade them to stop accusing him of accessory to homicide. He was fairly sure he could throw a fact or two at Montoya to help convince her. Besides, he'd need some explanation for why he would vanish without a trace; something that wouldn't get any residents of this world into trouble on his behalf. Actually, it was hard to find a downside to coming clean, other than the usual secrecy and paranoia.

"Have you ever heard of Schrödinger's cat thought experiment?" Red Robin asked Montoya coolly, before turning back to Gordon. "Publicize as much of the case as the victim is comfortable with. Show Gotham that you're championing the victims, even those who would traditionally be perceived as having brought their troubles on their own heads. Also, a number of gangs try to portray themselves as supporting the community. Persuade the people that the gangs are raping their daughters and that gets shot to hell. Do you think that's achievable?"

"I'd have asked you to go for it even if it wasn't a convenient way to control the gang war," Gordon grunted. "We'll do it. I'll contact the DA first thing in the morning."

"Thank you," Red Robin said, and turned to Montoya. "Have you worked it out yet?"

"Schrödinger's cat; isn't that something about alternative universes?" Allen mused.

"That is one possible conclusion," Red Robin nodded.

"Why are you asking us about that?" Montoya demanded. "It's not as if- you can't be serious."

"Are you trying to claim you're from another reality?" Allen asked incredulously.

"There was this massive, complicated machine thing, and it exploded," Red Robin shrugged. "Next thing I know, I'm here."

"And that automatically means reality travel?" Montoya said sceptically.

"Actually, my first assumption was teleport accident," Red Robin shrugged. "I had been in San Francisco, you see. I came here, and found the signal on the roof smashed. As far as I'm aware, that never happened back home, so I got pretty worried."

"Then I found him up there," Gordon added. Red Robin glanced at him, grateful that the Commissioner had decided for himself whether or not to reveal his involvement. "I didn't recognize him, which apparently gave it away."

"I'm a four-year veteran, and I've been working with James Gordon for pretty much all of that," Red Robin explained. "Believe me, your commissioner's a sharp one. He can almost always tell which of us is which, even when we change costumes and names. Mind you, the age-gap usually gives it away, and Nightwing's such a cuddle-monster even in the Bat suit…" He smiled fondly to himself.

"Nightwing? Us?" Allen asked, confused.

"There's eight of us at the moment. Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, Red Hood, Black Bat, Spoiler, Robin and myself. Nightwing, Red Hood and I all started as Robin, and Black Bat and Spoiler have both been Batgirl at various points," Red Robin summarised. "Batman started about twelve years ago, and we all decided we wanted in."

"How many of you are children?" Allen asked tightly.

"Myself, Robin and Spoiler are under the age of sixteen," Red Robin said curtly. "We _chose_ this. And none of us come from particularly wholesome backgrounds. Remember I mentioned I once killed someone? My father was killed in front of me, and I shot the killer with my father's pistol. My mother died some time previously. Batman adopted me after that. We all have broken pasts. We don't feel like _children_ anymore."

"I'm sorry, but this is just ridiculous," Montoya interrupted. "You're talking about travel between alternate realities, and you accepted it just like that?"

"There's precedent where I come from," Red Robin answered. "An awful lot of precedent, actually. You should be glad you've never had to deal with it before." He pulled his notebook and pen out of his belt and scribbled a note. He handed the book to Montoya.

Montoya started as she read the message. 'You need not be so afraid to come out. Your colleagues will respect your courage in speaking the truth.' "How did you know?" she croaked.

"I knew what to look for," Red Robin said simply. "And it's true. Your counterpart didn't find it very easy at first, but eventually, it was fine."

"What did he write?" Allen asked curiously, trying to see the message as Montoya returned the notebook.

"He told me that I would have respect if I came out," Montoya replied, a little in shock.

"You're lesbian?" Allen said, surprised. "Huh. Well, if it works for you…"

"You see?" Red Robin said softly. "You were outed in my world, at a rather bad time. But you're one of the best back home. You never give us a free pass, and we need that sometimes. You're a fantastic detective, and really stick to your principles."

"No compliments for me?" Allen smirked.

Red Robin winced. "You're honourable. That's not always enough in Gotham. We never had any complaint about you."

Allen frowned. "I see," he said heavily. Red Robin glanced away. Crispus Allen had been killed by a corrupt cop in his home world while trying to bring down that same cop.

"This world is about eleven years behind my own; my counterpart is still a toddler," Red Robin said. "And of course things are different. Dent is still around in my world, for instance."

"Is he still DA?" Allen asked hopefully.

"No, he's a semi-permanent resident of Arkham Asylum," Red Robin said bluntly. "He snapped after getting half his face melted off. It happens."

"Live villain, rather than dead hero?" Montoya asked.

"He outed you because you refused to date him," Red Robin told her.

"Bastard."

"Did our Dent snap?" Allen asked Gordon.

"We need him to remain a hero," Gordon sighed. "Red Robin, please don't spread that around too much."

"Did Batman kill him?" Montoya asked.

"If so, it was more manslaughter than homicide," Gordon said heavily. "Dent tried to kill my family."

"Believe me, that's a hell of a lot better than if Joker was gunning for your kids," Red Robin said darkly. "Trust me, there's a lot I've seen that you really don't want to."

"What can you tell us about Black Mask?" Allen asked.

"Real name Roman Sionis," Red Robin said. "Back home, he was a major player in a very nasty gang war, and almost killed my girlfriend Spoiler. He was found dead with a bullet in his brain a week later. We still don't know who did it. His group is very much a cult of personality; without him, the men dispersed. Some took over small parts of the activity, but most who remained alive and free moved over to working for one of the other crazies. Sionis back home was definitely insane. I don't think this one is, although I wouldn't be surprised if he claimed it. The two histories aren't that similar. I predicted what I think he'll do earlier."

"What was the gang war like?" Montoya asked.

"Horrible. For various reasons, everyone started fighting everyone else at once. We didn't have time for any cunning plans."

"Who dealt with rape cases?"

"The girls. Batgirl, Black Bat, Spoiler." He shrugged. "It's a sensitivity thing. I'm sure you understand."

"So what's our next move?" Gordon asked.

"I'll turn the strategies we discussed earlier over to Oracle and focus on the anti-rape campaign," Red Robin decided. "I don't want Oracle exposed to this aspect for various reasons. Besides, the…manipulation strategy requires more of a bird's-eye view, and the rapes a personal touch. Is that acceptable?"

"Sounds good to me," Gordon shrugged.


	24. Data Collection

**Black and Red Chapter 24 Data Collection**

Babs sat up late. She'd got a call several hours ago to tell her to keep feeding the police locations, and then nothing until Red Robin told her to turn in for the night. What was her mentor up to?

Nearly fifteen minutes after the last call, he slid in the window. "Oracle?" he said wearily. "Get some sleep. You need it."

"You too," she nodded. "But what are you doing?"

"Right now, I'm going to bed," he answered.

"You know what I mean," she insisted.

"Oracle," he started, then caught himself. "Barbara. We're going to go for a two-pronged attack. You know what we're doing on one front; taking out the leadership of each gang as they become vulnerable and keeping the men fighting each other. I'll be handling a different side of it, something that should keep them in prison for quite some time. And of course keeping collateral to the minimum on the side. I want you to take care of arranging raids against the gang leaderships."

"Me? But-"

"I'm sure you're capable of it. You'll need to identify the presidents, vice-presidents and officers of the various gangs and build portfolios of crimes for each one. Then, when the gangs have been reduced in strength, either through sufficient arrests or through fighting with other gangs, keep track for an opportunity to have them arrested in one sweep. Communicate that to the police and send them your body of evidence. If you need bugs planted, just tell me." Red Robin peeled his mask off, slipped it in his belt and started removing his gear.

"What'll you be doing?" Babs asked.

"Working on the other half of the plan," he answered, sitting on the bed and pulling off his boots.

"Which is?"

Red Robin hesitated, looking down at his foot as he rotated it to stretch the muscle. "It's not something I want you dealing with yet," he said at last. "You're not old enough."

"What?" Babs said, completely taken aback. "I thought you were going to teach me all you know! Why aren't you-"

"Babs, please," Rob sighed. "This particular facet I can't teach you about yet, because I'm not your parent or guardian, and I'm not taking that choice away from them. There's an awful lot you can do without getting involved in that."

"But if you're not going to teach me, then how will I learn?" she demanded. "You promised to teach me everything!"

"I know, I know." He ran his hand through his hair. "Look, I've been planning to write you out a set of files about pretty much everything. And I mean everything, even what I'm not telling you now. Just…don't look at those ones until you're ready."

"I'm ready _now_ ," Babs whined, then immediately clamped her mouth shut, realising she sounded like a three-year-old demanding sweeties.

Rob looked at her sceptically. "That footage I requested. What were those two boys about to do?"

Babs frowned. "Beat the girl up, I think," she said hesitantly.

Rob smiled wanly. "You're not ready yet. Look, I'll make a deal with you. If you can find some way to get your father to tell you what we're doing, I'll clue you into everything. But don't let him know you're Oracle."

"Deal," Babs smirked. How hard could it be to get her dad to tell her?

"Great, now go to bed. We've got to be up in three hours if we don't want your mother to get suspicious."

* * *

As before, Tim was using the morning to get his reports written and do his research, so Babs could have the computer when she got up again at lunchtime. He also checked the results for some tests he'd had Wayne Enterprises' research division run.

Although he personally had never had the time or need to make comprehensive studies into the multiverse, he'd read through the papers others had written. Each universe within the multiverse had slightly different pattern in the vibration of different quanta; these patterns only varied slightly, and had the same period for each pattern across every universe in the multiverse. Measuring the vibration patterns should tell him roughly how far he was from his home. It couldn't be too far. Although there was a theory that there may in fact be multiple multiverses, this world was quite similar to his own.

The pattern lasted as long before repeating as the one he had memorised. This was promising. He knew that the universes had "split points", epicentres where distance between worlds was smallest. To use the Viking's world tree as a model, these epicentres would be where the branches connected. Some worlds had multiple epicentres but not others, or so it was thought; it was theorized that the epicentres were temporal locations as well as spatial, which would mean that worlds with, apparently, only one, may yet gain more. Tim would have to find the nearest epicentre, and then build a signalling device that would form a beacon to his home dimension.

The epicentre in his home Gotham was in the cave system that stretched underneath the Manor; in the cave that once held the "sacred relics" of the Miagani, the Bat People, who Bruce had freed from the domination of the Blood Tribe millennia ago after being thrown through time when he killed Darkseid. They'd found it strangely ironic that the most important location in Gotham was the millennia-long dwelling place of Bruce's cape and cowl.

Finding the local epicentre would be a simple matter of sending out a special pulse, and looking for a place where the quantal vibration patterns changed each cycle.

It was a step homewards.

But in the meantime, there was work to be done.

There were people to free from crime's darkness.


	25. Progress At Last

**Black and Red Chapter 25 Progress At Last**

There was a strange routine in the Gordon household. The whole family, plus guest, turned out for breakfast, before Jim Snr went to work, Babs Jnr and Rob returned to their bedrooms, Jim Jnr went to the lounge and turned on the telly, and Babs Snr started on the housework. Behind closed doors, little Babs caught up on the night's lost sleep, while Rob wrote up his part of the files, mostly detailing his efforts to combat 'uncategorized assault'. After lunch, he headed out and his trainee wrote her reports. For some reason, though, Oracle was starting to get a little frustrated.

"Dad, what are these gang evils?" Babs asked innocently, pointing to that morning's Gotham Gazette, which bore the headline: "DA Says No More To Gang Evils". She'd only been trying to breach the topic for a week.

"You'll find out when you're older," Jim sighed.

"Why not now?" she pressed. "I'm eleven. I'm a big girl now."

Jim looked over at his wife; it was her turn to sigh. "She'll find out sooner or later. You go to work, dear; I'll explain it."

"Alright," Jim complied. "JJ? Do you want to know?"

"Can I watch Toy Story 2?" the boy asked instead.

"Of course, sweetie," his mother said, looking more than a little relieved.

* * *

Tim looked up as Babs entered the room, her cheeks noticeably pink. "How did it go?" he asked mildly.

"I don't get it," she complained. "Why would those guys be trying to get the girl pregnant?"

Tim resisted the urge to groan. Of course Mrs Gordon had been less than detailed. "They...weren't trying to get her pregnant," he explained delicately. "They were doing it for the pleasure of the act."

"Pleasure? It's gross!"

He chuckled. "There is a very large element of pleasure, especially for the man. But for the girl, if it's forced, it's fairly horrible. In some ways, it's almost worse than murder."

"How?"

"Because the victim is left to live with the consequences," Tim said grimly. "Something like ninety percent of rapes are committed by someone the victim knows. The case you saw on camera was the boyfriend and two of his friends. That's a massive psychological problem. And prosecutions are so very rare. It's a huge problem."

"What are you doing about it?" Babs asked.

Tim reached over and pulled up one of his files he hadn't shown Babs. "I've been compiling a list of all the girls currently attached to the gangs. Then I go to them, ask them if they've ever been subjected to sexual assault, and encourage them to report it. If they're willing to discuss it, I can add the accusation to the perpetrator's file. As of last night, nineteen girls have filed charges. No arrests yet, but a few already in custody have that added to their rap sheet."

"Will it work?"

"I hope so."

* * *

Red Robin slid into Commissioner Gordon's office without alerting Gordon, Allen or Montoya. He watched them for a moment compulsively flicking through pages or twiddling thumbs waiting for him, before clearing his throat to see them jump. "What progress?" he asked.

"Here's the list of rape charges filed today," Gordon said, passing the page over. Red Robin scanned it quickly.

"This is excellent progress," he murmured.

"Not as many as yesterday," Montoya pointed out.

"No, but this girl is one I haven't spoken to," Red Robin shrugged. "That means word is starting to spread."

"Fair enough," Allen nodded. "How goes the strategic front?"

Red Robin tapped his ear. "Oracle. Your report?"

Gordon set his radio on the table, as the heavily modulated voice of Oracle came through. " _We have been monitoring the situation with the False Face Society and the East Eagles,_ " she started, and Red Robin tried to tune out the fact he had two voices coming at him at once, one distorted from the radio and one clean in his earpiece. " _The Faces have almost completely encircled the Eagles,_ " Oracle continued. " _The Eagles have been arming. We can be fairly certain the gangs will come into open conflict soon._ "

"Do you have member analyses?" Red Robin asked.

" _You know it's really creepy hearing your voice coming from two places at once,_ " Oracle commented. Red Robin rolled his eyes and pulled his comm out of his ear. " _Uh, yeah, I've identified the president, vice president, two enforcers, treasurer, weapons officer,_ " Oracle continued. " _And I've got video of them killing people, other gang members mostly, various thefts; the president has uncategorized assault charges from five different women, so on and so forth._ "

"Right," Red Robin nodded. "Prepare to send the entire dossier to the GCPD. If we can make a move soon-ish-"

" _Wait,_ " Oracle interrupted. " _Activity on cameras. The Faces are making their move._ "

Red Robin looked at the map. "Send officers here, here, here and here," he said pointing to various places on the map. "I'll be here. If we let the Faces in and out, we can mop up the Eagles. That would be relatively risk free. Or we could let them fight it out and take anyone still standing, but we'd be more likely to lose someone. I certainly don't recommend trying to interrupt them. Your call, Commissioner."

Gordon stared at the map. "Which is mostly likely to get civilians killed?" he asked.

"I plan on monitoring the whole situation and stepping in as required to safeguard innocents," Red Robin shrugged. "But the Faces might try something after they win, I suppose."

" _If we get some Faces off the street now, that gives us less to do later,_ " Oracle commented. " _But we might have a little more trouble getting convictions for them._ "

"Even keeping them locked up for a few days is worth it," Gordon decided. "I'll put additional officers in these streets," he said, pointing to the map. "Let's get moving."

"On my way," Red Robin nodded. He slipped the comm back in his ear and slipped out the window.


	26. Operation Success…?

* * *

**Black and Red Chapter 26 Operation Success…?**

Red Robin watched carefully. It felt slightly counterintuitive to allow so much violence to continue, but he couldn't stop it, and it wasn't really his responsibility. If two street gangs wanted to kill each other, there was only so much he could do to stop it, and only so much he _should_ do. His job, his responsibility, was protecting the innocent.

He dropped, his grapple line spooling out behind him, and twisted in mid-air. A shopkeeper had poked his nose out of the shelter of his establishment, and was nearly in the crossfire. Red Robin pushed him back into the shop, and hissed, "Stay back, and take cover." The shopkeeper heeded the advice, and Red Robin retreated to safety.

" _All police in position,_ " Oracle reported. _"If I'm right that your location's quieting down, you should probably move to the next street._ "

Red Robin glanced over the street below; indeed, the Eagles were in flight, and the Faces were moving on. He scrambled over to the other side of the roof, and surveyed the adjacent street. The fighting was still in full flow. Patience wearing thin, he tensed. "Oracle, is it calm elsewhere?" he snapped.

" _Pretty much,_ " she replied.

"Fine. Tell the Commissioner to tighten the noose; I'm going in to pacify the situation." He jumped again, flared his wings out, and dived into action.

Land directly between two opponents, fists into both stomachs. One batarang, two, three, four, five. Staff left, right, vault, spin, crouch. Baseball bat to his face, _ouch_ , kick groin. That guy's got a knife, _duck_ , not another cut; at least it missed his throat. Smoke bomb, twist away, swipe. Strike, dodge, repeat. _Ow_ , hadn't he got all the guns on the floor already? Never mind, the Kevlar stopped the bullet. Batarang to disarm, vault that unconscious guy, clobber around the head. Who's left? Two Faces. Bit of fun? Yeah, why not. Handspring towards them, land low, kneecap 'em with the staff. Running footsteps; damn, who'd he miss? Turn, confront-

"Stand down, Red Robin!"

Breathing slightly heavier than normal, he lowered his staff. "My apologies, officer," he said. "Did you see much trouble?"

"A few we had to put down, but nothing we couldn't handle," the policewoman said. "I must insist you yield the crime scene."

"Sure, go ahead." The vigilante stepped aside and flipped his staff in his hands as he collapsed it. "If you wouldn't mind, could you set aside my batarangs? I'd like them back."

"No problem," the male officer answered. "Uh, we've got some paramedics on standby if you'd like to get your face looked at."

Red Robin touched the gash on his jaw and grimaced. "Think I'll take you up on that, thanks."

"Hey, not all us guys were totally opposed to the Bat," the policeman shrugged. "'Least not until he flipped out on Dent. And you do seem so like him…his apprentice, maybe."

Red Robin chuckled. "Perhaps. Well, like I said, thanks."

* * *

Gordon hadn't been onsite during the operation, but had been waiting in safety for news of success. He hadn't been too surprised Red Robin chose to pacify the remaining combatants rather than wait, but he was grateful Oracle gave him a heads-up. It allowed him to corner the kid while he was still being tended to by the paramedic.

"This won't scar, will it?" Red Robin asked, touching the taped cut along his jaw.

"Afraid it'll ruin your looks?" the paramedic asked sardonically.

"A little," Red Robin admitted. "It'll be fairly noticeable if it does, won't it? Might attract some unwanted attention."

"I take your point," the medic acquiesced. "No, it shouldn't leave anything too noticeable. Just try not to get it bashed before the skin seals over. Now, let's see…you should probably get a tetanus jab-"

"I'm up to date, don't worry about that."

"Then just some antibiotics should do it."

"Of course. I have a month's supply of co-amoxiclav; a fortnight of that, and then see if anything happens. I know the drill."

"I was going to recommend ciprofloxacin, actually."

"No, my caffeine intake's too high. My regular doctor advised against it. Like I said, I know the drill."

"Well, if you're sure…Let's have a look at that eye. Would you mind removing your mask?"

Red Robin bit his lip. There was a darkened area around the side of the mask, and it looked like there might be something beneath it, but Gordon was doubtful if he'd relinquish his anonymity that easily. But the kid had already shown he was being less careful…

Without saying a word, he reached up and peeled away the mask from the bashed eye, lid still firmly closed. The paramedic leaned in close.

"You're going to have a shiner in the morning, but I can't tell if there's any damage if you don't open your eye," he reported.

Red Robin sighed, and turned his face away. Pulling one of his batarangs from his belt, he used it as a mirror to examine the no doubt bloodshot orb. "It'll be fine," he dismissed. "No permanent harm." He replaced the mask.

"If you're finished, could I have a little privacy to speak to Red Robin?" Gordon asked, stepping forward at last.

"Perhaps we should have our discussion elsewhere, just in case Mr Healey here has more patients to treat?" Red Robin suggested, getting up from the back of the ambulance and stepping away. Gordon followed as the vigilante led the way into an alley just out of earshot of any of the returning servicemen.

"From what I've heard so far, you did a pretty good job out there," Gordon started.

Red Robin shrugged. "A lot of injuries, a fair few deaths. Beyond my remit, I know, but it doesn't make it easier, you know? But as far as I'm aware, there was next to no collateral. Perhaps some property damage, but no injuries, and certainly no fatalities."

"And we only had two escape us," Gordon concluded. "That I heard of, leastways."

"That's the figure Oracle gave me, yes," Red Robin nodded. "I'll have a complete list of everything we have against those arrested by the morning. Oracle's already compiling it."

"Pretty good night, then."

"Oh yeah. Certainly worthwhile."

"I wonder how you're gonna hide that black eye from my wife, though."

Red Robin grimaced.


	27. Strategem

**Black and Red Chapter 27 Strategem**

The Commissioner had the day off, but had promised Tim he was leaving his office window unlocked and the half-dozen batarangs taken from the crime scene on his desk. Tim had completely skipped sleeping that night in order to write the reports on the arrested, after breaking into Black Mask's townhouse in order to plant bugs. Sionis had been furious with the two surviving free members of his gang, and had beaten one of them unconscious while the other looked on. But at least they now had a clue that Sionis would be focusing on intimidating other gangs into following his lead into a full-scale assault on the police.

Tim sighed as he finished up the last report. The scoop of other gang leaders was nearly in place; he'd been planning to do it the next night. But what if Sionis took advantage of the power vacuum to install his own men, or gangsters subservient to him, in the empty slots, thus giving him a good chance of doing serious damage to the police?

He sent the files to Gordon's work computer and suited up again. He'd hoped to have it finished before half-nine, but quarter to ten wasn't too bad, considering how many arrests had been made. Slipping out the window, he started planning the next move.

It all depended on how quickly they could get the gangs to fear the police. If multiple charges could be made against each and every one of the night's arrestees by the time the lunchtime news went out, and was accompanied by a statement saying like the police would do everything to bring peace back to Gotham, and THEN they swept through the gangs that evening like an avenging angel, it would strike fear into the hearts of everyone who remained. Especially if Tim led the arrests himself and got his name in the papers. After all, criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot. It wasn't as if they'd never taken advantage of that before.

There were two flaws in the plan. The first was the time limit; only about two hours to file dozens of charges. Second, there was little guarantee that Sionis wouldn't take the gangs by force.

If that happened, then at least taking out Mask would bring down anyone else.

Arriving at the GCPD HQ, Tim checked his batarangs for damage before sheathing them and getting to work.

* * *

Babs crept into Rob's bedroom just as he returned, collapsing on the bed. "You okay, Rob?" she asked.

"Will be in a few hours," he replied wearily, divesting his equipment. "I need you to keep watch on Mask at all times. If we can find a way to get access to his contacts, we might have a chance at out-manoeuvring him."

"What do you mean?" the fledgling Oracle asked.

"We're doing that sweep tonight," Rob said curtly. "Mask will no doubt consider it a godsend and take over everyone. If we can hijack his lieutenants, we can bring this mess back under control. But for that, we need to know more about how he runs his gang."

"Got it," Babs nodded. "Want me to work out a schedule for tonight?"

If you don't mind," Rob yawned. He peeled off his mask, revealing the nasty black eye he'd won the previous night. "Just keep the noise down." He crawled under the covers and fell asleep.

"Whatever you need," Babs murmured. It sounded like the trouble could be over within a week or two at this rate.

But then, Rob would focus on going home, on leaving her…

* * *

Tim had sent Babs to get some personal time while he waited for it to get dark. A quick skim over Babs' plan told him it looked good enough. Maybe over-estimated his speed a little, but generally pretty good.

But something else had attracted his attention. His scans were done; the focal point was located.

"Of all places, does it _have_ to be Crime Alley?" he moaned.


	28. Fight, Fight, Fight…

**Black and Red Chapter 28 Fight, Fight, Fight…**

Oracle watched Red Robin suit up. It was still light, but he was making an early start. After all, he had a lot to do.

"Any progress on what Black Mask plans?" Red Robin asked, pulling on his boot.

"Not really," Oracle answered, glancing back at the computer. "He's been talking about taking the gangs' women to get them under his control. He said it would be wonderfully ironic to use the asset you and Dad have been 'twisting', his word, out of everyone's control as the fulcrum to take out the cops. What's a fulcrum?"

"It's the block a lever pivots on," Red Robin answered distractedly. "Like a seesaw. The fulcrum is the bit that rests on the ground. What he means is that he'll use the women as his winning card."

"That's not good," Oracle commented, worrying her lip.

"No, but at least he hasn't started planning on replacing the gang leaders. He'll have to scrap his plans tomorrow and start again, which gives us time." Red Robin stood, stuck his mask to his face and crossed to the window. "Keep an ear on him; we'll need to know if he catches on to what we're up to before we finish." He tapped the comm in his ear and slid into the night.

* * *

_"They're arming to scuffle with the Brutal Bishops. Careful; you'll have quite a fight on your hands."_

Red Robin sighed as he made his way towards the Cathedral Cats' hideout. Those two were almost legendary for ignoring everyone else to focus on each other – and the Preacher's Pests. Three gangs, all based around Gotham Cathedral, all best enemies. "What are the other two up to?" he asked Oracle.

" _Um…they're fighting right now."_

"I'll just leave them to it, stop the Cats getting involved," Red Robin grumbled. He'd have preferred to let the three continue, and focus on the other gangs that tended to be less discriminating in their choice of target, but the other gangs were trying to temporarily merge with them – other black gangs with the Cats, other white gangs with Bishops, and other Latino gangs with the Pests. For this reason, he wasn't taking out the presidents. He was taking out the boys who'd been encouraging the mergers.

Arriving at the building, Red Robin shot through the window, rolled upright and tackled his target. He knocked him down and out, and rose to his knees on the target's back. The other gangsters were quick to point guns, but Red Robin flicked his staff in front of his face. "Yeah, there's one of me and fourteen of you, but d'you really want to risk friendly fire?" The guns quavered and did not fire. "If I'm honest, I don't really care all that much what you gangs get up to among yourselves. You and the other two in this area stick to fighting each other, and that's your business. Don't make alliances with other gangs. Don't target anyone for any reason who isn't in a gang. Keep to yourselves, and I won't worry you. I've got too much else to do."

"Yeah, right," the president said derisively. "Like you mean that. You just scared of us."

"I take it you have some awareness of the news?" Red Robin asked. "You know what I did last night. See the papers tomorrow, and you should understand why I'm willing to give you a break." He rose to his feet, tugging his prisoner up with him. "I'm taking this one. You do whatever you like, just don't attract my attention, right? I'd rather you didn't kill each other, but that's your lookout. I'd suggest you try intergang martial arts contests; beat each other up without killing or breaking the law. Deal?"

"You leave our territory, and you not come back, yeah?" the president offered, keeping his guns levelled.

"Can't promise I won't pass though, but if you don't give me a reason, I won't come back," Red Robin shrugged. "Oh, and the Bishops and the Pests are scrapping right now. Gimmee half an hour to deal with them before you join in, would you?"

Without waiting for a response, he heaved the guy over his shoulder and left the way he came.

* * *

"Gordon's Gang Grind: GCPD in largest arrest haul to date," Babs read from the paper. "Blah blah blah, more than fifty arrested from all over the city, all high ranking within their own gangs, over three hundred charges to be filed in total, suspected orchestration by vigilante Red Robin, speculation continues regarding Batman." Babs closed the paper. "Not bad."

"Daddy had a long night, sweetie," Barbara senior said. "I wish he didn't have to associate with vigilantes so much, it puts so much strain on him."

"I'm sure he has good reason, Mrs Gordon," Rob said blandly. Babs fought a giggle.

"I know, but it's so hard on him," the woman said. "Didn't you say your parents had been involved in gang business, Rob?"

"Gun running," Rob said smoothly. "I can't really talk about it."

Babs wondered if there was any truth in that. Rob had hinted his parents were criminals, but he'd never gone into detail.

Rob finished his coffee and, as was customary, retreated to his room. Babs waited a few minutes before following. He was poring over the computer.

"Aren't you sleeping?" Babs asked. He'd always insisted they go back to bed after breakfast.

"Soon," he replied distractedly. "I'm just getting something ready. Come back at eleven. I think it's time to start your practical training."


	29. Fighting Analysis

**Black and Red Chapter 29 Fighting Analysis**

"Let's start with some punches. Make a fist."

Tim watched Babs hold up her right hand and clench it. He couldn't really explain why he felt it was right to teach her combat now, but he had a nagging doubt. Besides, maybe if he showed her how far she still had to go, she'd decide to keep off the streets for a few years while she trained. It was worth hoping, at least.

First, stop her making the most basic errors.

"If you punch someone with that, you'll fracture your thumb," he sighed. "Try again, with the thumb on the outside." She reclenched her fingers with the thumb sticking out. "No, not like that. Here." He took her hand and manoeuvred her thumb so it lay against the middle section of the fingers.

Babs took her hand back, and made a clumsy swing at nothing. Tim sighed again. No doubts about her enthusiasm, but a complete novice. Even Steph, who he and Oracle had trained from her first nights out, had been in a few fights.

"Babs, please. Unarmed combat is an art form if done right. Don't just flail about." He came up behind her and adjusted her stance. "This is one of our simplest 'ready' stances. Nightwing would be on his toes, but I don't think you can somersault. The advantage of this position is that you are ready for just about anything. See how you can lash out with any limb without losing your balance? Leg work is even more important than armwork. Not just kicks, but twisting and turning, dodging and ducking. Move more, get hit less. You're too small and fragile to get away with taking your hits to stay in optimum position."

"Right…I think," she said hesitantly.

"Sit down," Tim said pointing to the bed. "Watch this." He sank into the starting position, and began one of his routines, He was a little out of practise with this one, but it flowed well enough. He let the movement take him, until with a final spin, he finished. Babs applauded.

"That was my first practise routine," he explained. "It's also the first one I took Spoiler through when she started learning. Now, let's break it down into each move, and go through exactly how to perform each one. First is a right hook. Pay attention to my shoulder, elbow and wrist."

* * *

Babs collapsed on her bed. After two and a half hours, Rob had pronounced her almost capable of all of three of the moves he'd demonstrated. Now she ached all over. Lunch had been awkward.

It was a strangely pleasant ache. Unlike the time she'd sprained her wrist, it felt like an ache that accomplished something. The ache of muscles hard used.

Rob was expecting her back in an hour. Just let her lie there for a minute longer…

* * *

Tim glanced at the clock. Babs was late. Sure, he was pushing her hard, but no harder than Bruce had pushed him. Mistakes can be forgiven when you have someone to watch your back, but Babs wouldn't – he fully intended to convince her to wait another few years before hitting the streets, by which time he'd be long gone. Hopefully.

He rose, and checked on his pupil. She was fast asleep. For a moment he envied her. He'd only gotten about four hours sleep on average each night since the gang trouble flared up. He could really do with a full night of rest, but he couldn't afford it. Not when there was still so much else to do.

He looked down at the sleeping girl again and sighed, smiling slightly. She did look cute sleeping. But oh so vulnerable. For a moment, his bad feeling twinged again. He'd never known himself to have premonitions, but…there was something about this world that made him ill at ease. Maybe he should try speaking to the other Bruce again.

He returned to his computer. As expected, Sionis was raging about the disruption to his plans, but had yet to think of using his own people to fill the gaps. Good. That particular delay could be the one thing that decided who won the campaign.

He could extend his 'I don't care what gangs do between gangs' to the other gangs. Except they had no leadership to talk to at present. Hmm.

Option one. Forget the idea. Let the gangs self-destruct as planned, and try to keep collateral to a minimum. Pros, he could focus on Black Mask, and the gangs would get just exactly what was coming to them. Cons, he might end up letting civilians come to harm through his inaction, and that strategy had no long term advantage. Option two. Wait until the gangs had ceased their internal conflicts, then offer his deal. Pros, the same as the last. Cons, collateral and possible lack of credibility. Option three. Use the contacts he'd made among the gang's girls to find the main contenders and offer them the deal straight away – maybe with a threat or two. Pros, would nip the violence in the bud before too much collateral could be done, and by bringing it up now, it would be more likely to have a long term effect. Cons, it would be a lot of work, and he might miss something crucial from Sionis while he was running around doing that. Option four. Distribute his message in a public forum. Pro, it would get it out very quickly – just go to the Gotham Gazette and offer to give an interview; any reporter would give their eye teeth for such an opportunity. Con, serious lack of credibility with civilians, quite likely extending to the police.

He weighed the four options, and sighed. Hard work never killed anyone. Option three it was.

Time to wake Babs and get her to watch Sionis.


	30. Short Lived Success

**Black and Red Chapter 30 Short Lived Success**

Tim leant against the wall. The girl he'd sought out was fetching a gangster for him. She was one of a large number of girls and young women he'd spoken to regarding sexual exploitation, and her rapists had been captured the previous evening. She'd been lucky; most of the gang had let her be. Her brother had protected her, and was now most likely to become the new president.

"You," said an angry voice. Tim straightened up, and tilted his sunglasses to glare over the, with masked eyes.

"Me," he replied casually. "I understand congratulations are in order. I hear your standing in your gang has gone up."

"Only, 'cause you kidnapped my friends and handed 'em over to the cops!" the gangster retorted.

"Friends who raped your sister?" Tim asked. "I get that you respected and maybe even feared them, but don't try telling me you liked them."

"What's it to you?"

Tim glanced over at the girl and saw her worrying her lip. "You're scaring your sister," he noted. "Don't worry, Britney. Jake's just being macho. He's actually quite glad Pete, Bill, Jim and Matt are getting what they deserve. He just can't admit it to me."

"How the fuck-" Jake started.

"I can tell when people are lying," Tim said shortly. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Jake looked over at Britney. "Yeah, 's true. I woulda killed those guys myself if I didn't think it was just as likely they'd ice me." He looked back at Tim. "Fine. Guess I owe you for that. What do you want?"

"It's quite simple," Tim shrugged. "You wanna form a street gang? Fine. Wanna fight other street gangs? Not my business. Start raiding local businesses and getting other people injured or killed in the crossfire and taking what you want from your girls against their will? I'm coming back. I really don't care what you do as long as it stays between people who know and accept what they're getting into. I've offered this to the three gangs around the Cathedral, and you may notice that I left their leadership virtually intact. I've got bigger problems to worry about than you lot causing havoc. We have a deal?" He stuck his hand out.

Jake grasped it. "Deal."

"Thank you," Tim smiled. "Personally, I'd recommend non-lethal combat competitions instead of killing each other; it'll keep you away from the cops. But it's your call."

The other boy frowned thoughtfully. "Might be an idea. I'll try not to attract your attention again."

Tim nodded, sprang, and shot off to the roofs.

* * *

Tim slipped through his bedroom window and dropped onto his bed. "That went well," he murmured.

"How many did you get to?" Babs asked.

"Nearly half," Tim sighed. "Add the three Cathedral gangs and Sionis' rabble, that's about half of all the gangs." He rubbed his temples. ' _Boy am I tired,_ ' he thought. ' _How much sleep have I got lately? Four hours a night is far too little for long-term. This better be over soon._ ' He sat up. "I need the computer for a bit. You got anything to do?"

Babs stood and stretched. "Guess I need to stretch my legs. Maybe practise some of those moves." She left.

Tim slid off the bed and sat by the computer. He opened up a program Babs did not know of. It was connected to a certain Wayne Tech project; one that would send a ripple through the fabric of the barriers between worlds to a specific world. He checked the progress of the signalling device. It would be remotely targeted towards the epicentre, which would dilute its power, but made it less likely to be discovered than if it was actually dumped in Crime Alley. Tim tapped into the device's programming, entered the target co-ordinates and gave it the quantal vibration details for his own world. Then he gave the activation command.

* * *

"What progress?" Gordon asked.

He'd brought Montoya and Allen into his office shortly before Red Robin arrived. They'd kindly brought coffee and donuts with them, and considering how fast Rob had gone for the caffeinated beverage, it had been a good idea. Poor kid looked drained.

"I've been speaking to some of the gangsters who didn't get caught last night," the teen said. "Told them I don't care if the gangs kill each other as long as it stays between the gangs."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous?" Montoya asked.

"Possibly, but it's fair enough," Rob shrugged. "Be honest, we have more to worry about than street gangs. You join a gang, there's a fair chance you're going to get injured or killed fighting another gang. That's your business. Me, I don't care as long as they don't move onto people who didn't sign up for it."

"Do you think that'll work?" Gordon asked. "Do you do that in your own Gotham?"

"It might do. At least well enough to give us some breathing space." The vigilante shrugged. "And no. We don't really need to. Twelve years, eight operatives, a whole bunch of crises under our belts, it gives us a reputation. A long time ago someone noticed that B was less likely to stop a gang fight than a mugging. In general, the kind of people likely to join a street gang like these ones just want to express their malcontent with their lot in life. We let them express it amongst each other, and deal with those who seek to get what they want at the expense of others." He paused. "Plus we have enough people to seriously harass them if they step out of line."

"And we don't?" Allen asked.

"You cops have so much procedure to comply to," Rob observed. "It does limit you. No offense, but we can do more." He paused again. "Well, you're better at dealing with moving violations, and we can't really deal with punishment or anything, but prevention and capture, we've got that covered."

"Not at all full of yourself, are you?" Montoya said snidely.

"Alright, alright," Gordon interjected. "Kid, was that deal on our behalf or just yours?"

"Just mine," Rob assured him. "But considering the fact I've been fetching your targets for you-"

The door banged open. "Sir!" the intruder, one of the rookie cops, yelled. "Urgent call. Trouble at Arkham Asylum!"

Gordon glanced over at Rob. The kid had sprung to his feet the moment the new arrival was through the door, and now seemed to be paling rapidly. "I'll meet you there," he said, and lunged for the window.


	31. Trouble

**Black and Red Chapter 31 Trouble**

Gordon got out of his car just as a motorbike – one of the police fleet – drew alongside and stopped. Red Robin kicked down the stand and vaulted over the handle bars. Landing lightly, his hands flicked through his belt, attaching a breath mask to his face, prepping a grapple and extending his staff to half length. Then the teen bolted towards the smoking ruin of the high security block.

Gordon grabbed the nearest guard. "What happened?" he demanded.

"We don't know, sir," the unfortunate guard reported. "About forty minutes ago, one of the guards in the maximum security block reported in and said the contingent seemed to be coming down with sore throats. Five minutes later, he requested an early shift change. It took ten minutes to call in enough personnel. When they went in, the guards were dead or dying, coughing up blood. The new shift immediately placed the building under quarantine and began searching for survivors The last we heard from them, they were also coming down with the mysterious sickness. The only people they could find were dead or near death, but the prisoners were missing, as was Doctor Quinzel. Then the building exploded."

"How many prisoners were there?" Gordon sighed.

"Two. Johnathan Crane and Joker."

Gordon groaned. Crane getting out was bad, but Joker? This was a fiasco nearly of the same proportions of when Joker had himself sprung from the cells and kidnapped Dent and Dawes, And he couldn't help but remember how sceptical Rob had been over Arkham's security. His fears had proved well-founded.

At that moment, said vigilante reappeared. "Pamela Isley, aka Poison Ivy," he announced. "I recognise the toxin. Nasty piece of week."

"Pam Isley?" the guard asked incredulously. "I know her; she wouldn't hurt a fly."

No, Chief Cash, but she would kill anyone who harmed her precious plants," Red Robin replied.

There was an awkward pause. "I'm not the chief," Cash pointed out.

Red Robin ran a hand through his hair. "I'm from an alternate universe very similar to this one, and there you're the chief guard at our Arkham. You're one of the best we could hope for, and you just seen how horrible a job it can be."

Gordon blinked. He hadn't thought Rob would be so free with that knowledge, but if it was to a trusted law enforcement officer, it made sense. "You were talking about Pamela Isley?" he intervened.

"Also known as Poison Ivy. Eco terrorist. Believes that humans are exploiting and ruining the world, particularly the plant life. Back home, she fused plant DNA with her own in an experiment gone wrong. This gave her the ability to communicate with plants and stimulate them to grow as she wills it. I've seen numerous toxins she's used, including the one that took out your guards. I can give you the formula for an antidote, but it's too late for anyone here."

"You haven't been infected with that toxin, have you?" Cash asked.

"No, I have a mouthpiece that screened it out," Rob answered distractedly. "You said you know her?"

"Yeah, she's a botanist who works in one of the research centres here," Cash answered. "Sweet girl. Good friends with Dr Quinzel, who went missing this evening."

Rob sat down heavily on the bike he's borrowed and buried his head in his hands. "Blonde, so high, obsessed with Joker?" Cash nodded slowly. "In love with him, would do anything for him?"

Cash paused. Gordon flinched as he processed it. "We're in trouble, aren't we?" Cash asked.

Without raising his head, Rob nodded. He started muttering to himself, a litany of foreign words interspersed with the occasional recognizable profanity. Then the boy took a deep breath and looked up.

"Right, well," he started. "Cash, your horses have bolted, but you can prepare for the next time. Get your men rounded up. Secure the site. Keep everyone away who does not absolutely have to be here. Politicians, press, everyone. Get an environmental decontamination agency in; you'll want to get the building habitable asap. Have someone check the other buildings and give Blackgate a call. I don't anticipate any more trouble, but no harm in taking care. Gordon, send out an alert to all squads. Have them on the lookout for Joker, Scarecrow, Ivy and Quinn. Oracle, get me whatever footage we have available. We'll want good pictures of the women for the cops."

"We have photos for staff ID cards on record," Cash offered.

Red Robin nodded. "Got that? Find those photos, send them out. Try and find where they went. I'm checking places they've used back home. No, keep monitoring Black Mask. Only if it's something that can't wait. Right. Do it."

The teen swung his leg over the bike, and started the engine. "Before you go, one thing," Gordon asked, remembering something. "How'd you get the keys to one of our bikes?"

"Told your boys I'd hotwire it if they didn't hand them over," Red Robin shrugged. "Call if something comes up." The bike sprang to life, turned on a dime, and vanished into the night.

* * *

Scarecrow, Joker and Harley had never been territorial. They might go for a big impact strike, but nothing geographically linked. Ivy, however, was definitely easier to figure out. Just follow the plants.

Fact. She had incapacitated the guards at Arkham. Fact. Back home, Harley and Ivy had been known to hang out when Joker was locked up. Fact. Cash had mentioned a friendship between this world's Isley and Quinzel. Fact. This world's Harley was, apparently, obsessed with the Joker. Fact. Incapacitating the Arkham guards had had a direct effect on Joker's escape.

Assumption. Isley had helped Quinzel free Joker.

Query. Where does Crane fit in?

Crane was insane. He'd never known of any link between Scarecrow and, well, any other Arkhamite. Sure, he'd work with others from time to time, but purely out of self-interest on both sides. Sadism may impact that, but it would still be selfish sadism.

It was obvious what Scarecrow would gain from this alliance; freedom and the chance to continue his reign of terror. What about Joker? From what he'd seen of this world's clown prince, he thrived on chaos and destruction. No signs of any affection for any of his people, or for those he would manipulate to do his bidding. Same as back home. Probably using Harley. Same as. Taking advantage of Ivy? Quite likely. Crane?

Less likely. There were no signs Crane would be interested in following Joker's lead, but unleashing him upon Gotham would cause chaos, like when he wound up Two Face and left him.

So, Joker has Harley, and maybe Ivy Crane is more likely a distraction. But Ivy's the easiest to find…

Red Robin arrived at Robinson Park. This was the first place to look when hunting Ivy. There was little guarantee she'd be there, but worth a look.

He pulled the flashlight from his belt, and started his search.

* * *

Hours passed. A fruitless search of the park had led to a whistle-stop tour of practically every chemist in the city, to check which ones stocked the chemicals Scarecrow would want for his poisons, and a rather frantic run across town when someone radioed in a routine carjacking where the perpetrators matched Harley and Ivy's descriptions. Dawn was approaching, and nothing had been found to help.

There was one important duty he must do. With such problems loose in Gotham, his next priority should be to bring in Batman.


	32. Emotions Running High

**Black and Red Chapter 32 Emotions Running High**

Bruce hurried down into the cave. It brought unpleasant and bittersweet memories; saving Rachel from Scarecrow, and escaping from the burning manor above when Ra's al Ghul razed it. He didn't want to go down there, but an alarm had gone off. An intruder had come in via the old well.

Alfred was close behind, but would not put himself in the line of fire. If he got hurt, Bruce would never forgive himself. He sprinted through the entrance, and stopped dead.

A teenage boy in red and black, wings strapped to his back, stood in front of the cabinet holding the Suit, back to the entrance. "You took your time," the boy said, turning.

Seeing his masked face removed all doubt. This was Red Robin, the new vigilante, the one who openly supported the police, doing their dirty work in exchange for a free pass to do as he pleased, and the intruder in his tower. "What are you doing here?" Bruce growled.

"Thought you might like to know Joker's out of Arkham," Red Robin answered coolly. "Don't know about you, but to me, that seems like a bad thing."

Bruce was stunned. Everything Joker had done flashed through his head; blown up hospitals, dead officials, turning the people against each other. Dent screaming in pain as his face burned, realising Rachel was _gone_. The desperate desire to break him. And once again, slamming into him, the realisation that had come upon him. All he had done was paint a target on Gotham for all the crazies.

"I'm sure Gordon can cope," he rationalized. Gordon was a good cop and a good man. He'd said all the right things about the Dent fiasco, and that was the important thing.

"There is a world of difference between 'coping' and actually getting on with life," Red Robin retorted, suddenly angry. "You should know that. How many years did you spend 'coping' with your parents' deaths before you started living again? And it coincided with when you finally started channelling all the rage, all the anger, all the grief, all the pain, throwing it into making Gotham a better place, didn't it? Well you're not done yet. Gotham needs Batman."

"Gotham _needs_ someone who can lead them in the light!" Bruce shouted back. "They need a figurehead, a good man, one who-"

"Harvey Dent died with Rachel Dawes!" Red Robin screamed at him. Both of them were breathing heavily. Bruce could hardly believe what he was hearing. This child had no place, no _right_ to question him. It was all for the best. Dent was who the people needed. Better to let the Bat play the villain.

"Dent survived that," Bruce growled. "He died when-"

"When he was forced to hear his girlfriend die, with no more logic than the flip of a coin. Harvey Dent was gone when you pulled him from the burning warehouse," Red Robin insisted. "Just as Bruce Wayne died with his parents."

Bruce recoiled. "Then who do you think I am?" he demanded.

"Isn't it obvious? You're Batman. You're the one who stands before the darkness and dares it to overcome him. You're the reason criminals fear that which goes bump in the night."

"I'm the reason the lunatics find the city fair game," Bruce said bitterly.

Red Robin barked a hollow laugh. "Don't delude yourself. They target Gotham because it's easy pickings. All you do is give them a reason to be flamboyant about it. Which, by the way, makes them easier to catch."

"What do you know?" Bruce dismissed. Arguing like this was folly. The child knew nothing.

"You really wanna know? Fine. I had an inter-dimensional accident. Back home, I've worked with Batman for years. I know what I'm talking about."

Bruce snorted. "You're delusional." He turned to leave.

"Say what you like," the boy called after him. "You know I'm right. Gotham needs you."

Bruce did not reply.


	33. The Mission is Everything

**Black and Red Chapter 33 The Mission is Everything**

Red Robin sighed. How could he lose his temper like that? It was just so frustrating to see Bruce, Batman, _his father and role model_ , deny himself so completely. It didn't make much sense. Bruce had been hurt so bad by his parents' murders, a seeming random tragedy, and the only way to make sense of the unfair grief of life was to do everything to keep as many people as possible safe. Attracting the wackos? Yeah, right. Sure, Joker and Two-Face and the others were a blight on Gotham, but they also kept the criminal element in check, in a strange way. It was odd, but they'd noticed that when an Arkhamite was making a protracted bid for dominance, most other crimes went down. The other criminals were too scared of getting caught in the crossfire. And it was a lot easier to track down someone who left a calling card than someone who just disappeared with no hints remaining.

What was the point of coming here? Red Robin looked around the cave, so similar and so different from his own. He never thought he'd miss Dick's giant penny and T-Rex automaton, but they'd given the cave a more friendly look. This place was cold, and strict, and disciplined. Well, at least he could stock up on a few extra resources.

" _Red Robin? Got something for you,"_ said the voice in his ear.

He reached up and switched his comm from one-way to all-channels. "Go ahead, Oracle," he replied.

" _The Arkham staff have retrieved a series of audio tapes recording Joker's sessions with Dr Quinzel,_ " she reported. " _They handed them over to the cops._ "

"That's great," Tim murmured. "Back home she destroyed all of those. Tell them I'll be along later to listen to them. What's Mask up to?"

" _Panicking. He seems to be considering some initiative to supposedly join up with Joker, then kill him._ "

"Fantastic. Tell me if he actually starts doing anything."

" _Sure._ "

There was a small chirp as his comm recognized his partner's switching to one-way, and Red Robin did the same. He crossed the cave and opened up a cabinet. Pieces for the strangely rigid cowl. Next one. Batarangs. Great. He started stuffing them into any spare space he could find in his belt.

"You really going to face Joker?" an English voice echoed.

"I don't have much choice, Alfred," Red Robin answered without needing to look. "Whatever happens, if I don't try my best, I'll never forgive myself. And I know that my best is easily enough to make a difference."

"But why should you? You should be playing video games with your friends, not risking your life."

Red Robin turned, and sat down on the cabinet he'd finished raiding. "Everything hurts," he admitted. "My past hurts. What goes on at present hurts. The likely future hurts. I had a seriously rough childhood, better than a lot of others, but it should have been taken care of. Remembering it…well, I try to avoid that. What makes sense is trying to stop others from suffering. The best thing that ever happened to me was when Batman started training me, and as long as I can fight, I will."

"You shouldn't have to," Alfred repeated. "I've seen what it's done to Master Bruce. It consumed him."

"What was he before? Empty?" Red Robin asked. "My Bruce adopted me. I know what he can be like."

"I suspect your Bruce is quite different," Alfred mused.

"Then tell me about your Bruce," Red Robin asked.

Alfred sighed. "He went off for some years. He left bitter, and angry. I used to hope he wouldn't come home, not because I didn't want to see him, but because he'd moved on. He didn't move on. He let himself spiral down, trying to express himself in completely the wrong way."

"He did move on," Red Robin murmured. "He started to make something of his grief. Protecting others from experiencing the same."

"Maybe, but I don't rightly know if he knows that," Alfred said dubiously. "I think he's after revenge. But you're going to have to lose a lot to bring Joker in."

"I don't doubt it," Red Robin agreed. "What help can you give me?"

"Suppose you could borrow the wheels," Alfred said, pointing to one of the massive bikes. "Doubt you could drive it, though."

"I can handle a normal bike," Tim shrugged. "I left a police bike near the well. Could you arrange for it to get back to its owners?" Alfred nodded, so Red Robin continued. "Last thing. Please tell me everything about Joker's last bid for power."


	34. No Time For Secrecy

**Black and Red Chapter 34 No Time For Secrecy**

Red Robin brought his new bike to a halt in the GCPD HQ's parking lot. Turning it off, he jumped off it and glanced around at the handful of cops who'd come to see what the noise was. "I disabled the safeties on this thing," he said helpfully. "If it's in the way, you can move it."

"Did you steal that from Batman?" someone asked disbelievingly.

"Something like that," Red Robin answered sheepishly.

"Is the Bat coming back?" another cop asked. "'Cause my cousin was on that SWAT team he took out when they were raiding Joker's place last time, and he reckons the Bat saved 'em all."

Red Robin paused, not quite sure what to say. "I'll do everything in my power to protect as many people as possible, regardless of whether or not the Bat's here," he said eventually. He turned to go up into the building.

"Kid," a third voice stopped him. "What can _you_ do?"

Red Robin looked around, and sighed. The man wasn't derisive, or dismissive, just…doubtful, and apparently reluctant to let a child risk themselves. "Tell your colleagues, but try to keep it within the force," he said. "There really are alternate realities. I've been B's protégé since I was ten. I can handle myself well enough to help, and that's what matters."

No matter how much Bats loved secrecy, this really wasn't the time for it. And besides, what harm could it do?

* * *

"I hear you've been busy," Gordon commented as his young vigilante helper collapsed into the visitor's chair in his office.

"Only fair I let B in on what's going on," Rob shrugged. "Turns out he's too stubborn to help. Maybe if it all goes completely screwy he'll change is mind, but…" Another shrug.

"I hear you have his bike," Gordon commented. "Not his car?"

"That's not a car, that's a military assault vehicle," Rob groused. Gordon hid a smile. This young one's style was clearly much more refined than that of the Bat. "Even that bike's a brute of a thing. I'd prefer to ride one of your vehicles, like earlier."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Gordon started to offer.

Rob shook his head. "No, the psychological implications of using B's are too useful to ignore. I've already given myself a reputation for doing a Bat's job, and by taking his bike I'm basically claiming to be his successor. That shows how serious I take this, which should keep all the small timers we've been worrying about lately in line. Especially considering Joker's at large; last time, he did nearly as much damage to organised crime as to our side."

"If we could just work out a pattern-" Gordon started, only to see Rob shaking his head.

"B's driven himself nuts trying to work that one out," he explained. "One time, Joker was at Arkham and B went to see him. Joker had a pack of cards, and dealt a dead man's hand with a joker. What does that mean? Red and black, life and death, love and sorrow, thousands of meanings within meanings. Which one?" Gordon frowned, thinking about it. Rob smirked, and leant across the table. "It meant nothing. He was playing with B. A trail of crumbs to nowhere."

Gordon sucked in a breath. Scary thought. "Are your sure our Joker is the same as yours?" he asked.

"In some ways, he isn't," Rob shrugged. "Yours is more calculating, more cruel in some ways. Oracle's been reading me Arkham's reports, and it sounds like he isn't insane, so much as he just doesn't care. Apparently, he once said 'I'm like a dog chasing cars, I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it'. His only goal seems to be to prove that anyone can and will commit the most heinous acts if they think it will make life better for them. Kill this guy or a hospital will blow, maybe with your loved one inside. Blow up the other ship before they blow you up. And from what I've found, there's very little proof that he's known if his conditions have been met before he goes for the punishment. That tallies with the Joker I'm familiar with. So, I'd recommend that if he gives an 'or else' ultimatum, assume he'll do it anyway. It might be worth making it seem as though his conditions have been met, while making sure we can manage the fallout should he go ahead. I'd like to see how he reacts to, apparently, getting what he wants."

"Will it work?" Gordon asked bluntly.

Rob shrugged. "We've found dealing with Joker to be one part improvisation, one part deep-seated protocols, and one part sheer determination. I just hope we can throw him off his game enough to get an advantage."


	35. A Lot To Do

**Black and Red Chapter 35 A Lot To Do**

Tim slipped through the window to his room, drained. "Morning, Babs," he said wearily.

"Hey," the girl answered. "Mom was wondering where you were. I told her you were sleeping in."

"Thanks," Tim nodded, shedding his suit. "Anything I should know about?"

"No sightings of any of the escapees," Babs reported. "Mask seems to be waiting for someone else to move first. He's recalled his men, although he's got lookouts at the edge of his territory."

"Goo. Mind keeping watch while I get some breakfast? You should get some sleep after that."

"Sure," he trainee responded, refocusing on the computer.

"Good girl," he murmured, slipping into normal clothing, He paused by the door. "And, do me a favour. Until all this is sorted out, check the spyhole before answering the front door, yeah?"

"Sure," Babs said again absently, not paying much attention.

Tim sighed. The whole situation disturbed him too much, but she should remember basic safety precautions. Her counterpart forgot once, and he was not about to let this poor child suffer as she had.

* * *

Tim stifled a yawn and poured more coffee down his gullet. The caffeine helped him push the tiredness aside for now, as he worked on the most recent territory map of the city. When Babs got back, he'd have her take over watching Sionis while he visited the rest of the gangs. He didn't have time for the softly softly approach he'd utilized yesterday, so he'd have to be more blunt. 'I've got bigger things to worry about, so behave or I'll just take you all about so I don't have to worry about you.' That should do it.

He finished marking the 'at peace' regions and returned to the computer. Oracle had done enough research on Ivy to indicate a lack of the metahuman abilities that characterised the Ivy he knew. But she was definitely using the plant toxins he recognised. If she couldn't stimulate the plants into growing to produce toxins merely by asking them to, could she be genetically modifying them in a lab, then harvesting the pollens and saps and poisons? There had been a smaller lab set up in one of the gardener's sheds on Arkham's grounds, but it wasn't enough to support the kind of operations he was thinking of. Arkham did, however, have numerous rare and exotic plants Isley was known to have a special touch with. That lab was probably used to harvest genetic material for her own experiments. Stretching his arms in front of him, he started into her financial records. Hopefully he could find her main lab.

He was still playing Quinn's session tapes with Joker. The nuances in their speech had been…interesting. Initially, Harley had been curious, eager to dig into Joker's mind. Joker had been grouchy, but as Harley's interest grew, he started toying with her, hinting at answers, but then contradicting herself. He sounded almost cruel in how he played her. After a week of daily half-hour sessions, she'd do almost anything for a straight answer.

In her desperation, Harley tried seduction. Joker was initially taken aback, but seemed to give in to her charms. Slowly. Reluctantly. By the end of week two, it was hard to tell who was seducing who.

Week three began with, curiously enough, a straight answer. Harley asked why 'Mistah J' had changed his mind about learning Batman's identity. _"When the Dent boy confessed it was him, it all became so easy,"_ Joker had replied. _"The chase was over. What would I have done if it wasn't a trap? No-one else challenged me like him."_

Tim shivered at Harley's laughter. _"Oh, Mistah J,"_ she said. _"You sure showed the Bat. You made him crazy. You're the smartest. No-one else managed to get rid of him."_ The scariest bit was, there was no trace of insincerity in her voice.

The recording ran at triple speed, years of having a speedster for a best friend letting him pick out the relevant sections to listen to at normal speed. Then he hit jackpot. Harley forgot to turn off the recording device after Joker left.

" _Harley."_ Isley.

" _Hey, Red How's it goin'?"_

" _I'm still not sure this is wise. Joker has shown himself to be erratic. Are you sure freeing him is safe?"_

" _Mistah J is a genius, and he loves me! I jus' have to show him how much I love him. Sure, he drove the Bat batty, but no-one respects him for it. He only needs a little longer to prove that he runs this city."_

" _What about Red Robin, this Demon Bird? They say he's taken over from Batman."_

" _So what? He's not match for Mistah J. You in or not?"_

A pause. _"He's agreed to my terms? He'll take out all those greedy fatcats polluting the earth for their own gain?"_

" _Sure. They're as good as any other target. He could even make Gotham pick which one t'go first."_

" _Fine. Just…keep him under control, and my skills are at your disposal."_

Tim hissed through his teeth. It was a good job Harley was so…forgetful. Or maybe she didn't care. A trap? No, there wasn't enough hard data to lead him to any particular conclusions that could be used against him. And if it was a trap there'd be more clues in other recordings. There was a chance Joker or Isely had left the recording, but again, nothing was clear enough to provide a vulnerability.

So. Joker had a thing for making otherwise normal people commit acts of atrocity out of fear. He had a way of making points as he did so; identifying weak links and exploiting them.

He considered Red Robin a threat. He'd have to; Isley would make sure of that. Isley was also demanding that the more environmentally unfriendly corporations would be targets. Probably the first targets. Knowing Joker, he'd go for at least one other more senseless act first.

But he'd have something ready in case he was interrupted.

Right then. It was 'known' that Bats don't come out during the day. That would give him some time. A list of companies Isley would target. Oracle could help finish that while he wrapped up the gang business.

A lot to do to win.


	36. At Work

**Black and Red Chapter 36 At Work**

Tim pushed himself as hard as he could. There was no time to waste. Between the gang war and the Arkham breakout, he was just too busy to take it easy. Six gangs to go.

" _Red Robin,_ " his comm chirped, and he stopped, hunkering down to give the conversation his full attention.

"What do you have, Oracle?" he asked.

" _Mask has announced his new strategy,"_ Babs reported. " _He's going for ally-with-Joker-then-betray-him."_

"I doubt that'll work," Tim frowned. "Not least because Joker would likely betray him first."

" _Should we let them fight it out between them?"_ Babs asked.

"We could," Tim mused. "Keep watching. We'll want to know what's happening if one of them becomes vulnerable."

" _Right,"_ Babs replied. " _I've also got that list of the top five companies producing the most pollutants. What should I do with it?"_

"Check to see if there are any corporate events coming up within a week one or other of the companies will be participating in," Tim instructed. "Those would be like red flags, but look out for anything else that catches the eye."

" _Sure. How are you coming along?"_

"Not too bad. Luckily, everyone seems to fear the Joker enough to stay in." Tim sighed. "I don't know how lasting it will be, but I believe the three Cathedral gangs are having an inter-gang boxing tournament this evening, so that's promising."

" _Sports as a substitute for war? Impressive,"_ Babs commented.

"Combat sports, yes," Tim agreed dryly.

" _I bet you're great at martial arts competitions,"_ Babs added.

"You kidding? If we ever tried we'd probably get disqualified in seconds. Our fighting isn't anywhere near pure enough for competition purposes."

There was a slight giggle. " _If you say so. See you later."_

* * *

Gordon dragged himself into his office, dreading what he was going to find. Less than a minute after sitting down, a knock at the door completely failed to surprise him. "Come in."

One of his more junior constables peeked in. "Sir? I was told to give you this," he squeaked, anxiously.

Gordon sighed and took the file, allowing the nervous youngster to make good his escape. Reading through the night's activity reports, he received something of a shock. Despite a massive increase in police activity due to the manhunt, crime, especially street crime, had gone _down_ drastically.

Gordon shook his head. Red Robin had warned him the crazies kept normal crime down, but he hadn't expected to witness it. And he hadn't expected it to be so dramatic. Combined with the measures they'd already put in place, it looked like all that would be needed to end the gang war would be to bring in Sionis.

He opened a blank document on his computer and started typing up the request to the judge that would make Red Robin's evidence admissible.

* * *

Babs stretched and yawned. This was harrowing. Everything so far had been exciting, and fulfilling, and _good_ , but now she felt like a bag of nerves. Could she be endangering herself, or her parents, or brother? Rob had promised to keep her identity secret, but what if someone got around his precautions?

Like Dent got around Dad's precautions?

Drat!

Babs leapt up and started to pace. She was already in danger; she could see that. Being the family of a notable policeman had been enough. By helping Rob, she was decreasing the chances of actually coming to harm, because she was decreasing the chances of _anyone_ coming to harm.

That was only a little reassuring.

Trying to put the worry out of her head, she started into the routine Rob had showed her.

* * *

Red Robin landed, and crouched. Oracle had found out that a company that produced cheap but wasteful fuel was moving into Gotham, and opening a new plant. The plant would be officially opened in three days' time. Just enough time for a complete survey, bug plant and protection detail planned.

He'd also hijacked another part of Wayne Enterprises to analyse exactly what toxins Ivy had access to, so he could prepare antitoxin ahead of time.

The other potential difficult would be pheromones. Ivy tended to use them in combination with a substance in the victim's bloodstream to make them more accepting and pliable. It had a stronger effect on post-pubescent males, so with luck Tim himself was still young enough to avoid it – if she used it. Unfortunately, they had yet to develop a vaccine that wasn't a poison in and of itself. It could be used as a short-term measure, but only a few times per person. Then it would probably overload the liver.

Approaching the dock where the last of the equipment was being brought in, Red Robin winced. The dock hands were being careless; one sufficiently wrong move could get everyone blown up and cause the company to fold – which would stave off the attack, but at too high a cost.

The comm buzzed. " _The Commissioner on the line,"_ Oracle reported. " _I'll just put the comm to the radio."_

"What's happened?" Tim said brusquely. No time to be wasted beating about the bush.

" _Joker's made a move. Gotham Zoo. You better come along._ "


	37. Trip to the Zoo

**Black and Red Chapter 37 Trip to the Zoo**

Red Robin vaulted over the zoo wall and landed next to Commissioner Gordon. "If it's hyenas again-"

"It is."

"-I'm going to punch Harley in the face."

Gordon shook his head. "We evacuated the zoo as best we could. There are two major areas we don't have control of, the hyena pit and the crocodile pond."

Red Robin moaned. "What's happening at the crocodile pond?"

"Not much," Gordon assured him. "Isley has a few of the animal trainers there, and we've been told that if we don't stop moving in she'll start pushing them in."

Red Robin frowned and reached for his comm. "Oracle, check on those trainers Ivy has a hold of. I want to know if they're known for being not as eco-conscious as they could be."

" _Is this important?_ " Oracle asked.

"Could be, but not urgent," Red Robin answered. "It may help long term, but it's fairly irrelevant right now."

"Has your version done something like this?" Gordon asked.

"Our Ivy was never interested in animals, but she had a metahuman connection with plantlife," Red Robin rattled off. "I'm looking for clues as to how she thinks. She's the most predictable of the three."

Gordon nodded. "Joker and Quinzel are at the hyena pit. They've got about a dozen hostages, most of them children."

"At this time of the evening?" Red Robin asked, frowning.

"Special late opening for a youth club," Gordon sighed.

Red Robin blinked slowly, then remembered this Gotham had less experience with Arkhamites' rampages. "Do we know what he's doing? Is he in contact with Ivy? How? Has he made any demands? Is he completely surrounded?"

"The CCTV still works," Gordon reported. "He's lining up the hostages on the edge of the pit in pairs, and telling them if one of them doesn't jump, he'll push both in. Isley and Quinzel have walkie-talkies. I don't know if we can block them, but if we did, Isley will start dropping her hostages. Joker's only real demand has been for us to keep back so he can have his fun. Yes, he's surrounded, but with the hostages…"

Red Robin grabbed a map from the nearest ticket booth and spread it out. "The crocodile pond and hyena pit are quite far away from each other," he murmured. "I take it you have men separating them? Good. We have to get those hostages to safety. Joker's first; Ivy's relatively honest, so I think we can trust her not to start feeding the crocs on a whim. Joker is susceptible to what appears to be a bargain…" Red Robin frowned at his map, quickly formulating a plan. "Right, let's go."

He hurried off in the direction of the hyena pit, Gordon following. "What are we doing?" the Commissioner asked.

Red Robin didn't reply immediately. "Allen, Montoya," he said instead, recognizing the pair up ahead. "Head to the croc pond. When the hostages are released, ensure they're escorted out safely. Then radio Gordon, and await his order to open a channel in the barricade to let Ivy out."

"But-" Montoya protested.

"Do it!" Red Robin ordered.

"What are you planning?" Gordon asked again as his officers scurried off.

"Have a cordon set up at the boundaries of the zoo," Red Robin said. "I'm going to try to tempt Joker into letting the hostages go in exchange for letting _him_ go, then trap them."

"How will you get him to release the hostages?" Gordon asked.

"By giving him me," Red Robin replied grimly. "Keep hold of the radio with Oracle; I'll need a relay so I know when the hostages are safe."

"Are you sure?" Gordon asked, stopping and forcing Red Robin to stay as well.

"I'm going to offer myself for the hyena pit in exchange for the release of Joker's hostages," Red Robin explained. "When I'm in the pit, we can force Ivy to give up her hostages. She'll probably try to leave at that point. You tell Oracle when the hostages are safe, Oracle will tell me, and then I can get out of the pit and we can close in on Joker and Harley."

"Are you sure you can take those hyenas? And the pit's fairly deep," Gordon queried.

"It'll be fine," Red Robin reassured him. "I've dealt with hyenas before, I have a few surprises in my gloves, and if it does go wrong, well, I signed up for this. Those poor kids Joker has didn't."

"You're not making this easy," Gordon sighed.

"I know, I know; but we don't have time," Red Robin pleaded. "Concentrate on your part. Get the civilians out, and have the trap ready to spring. Let me bait the trap."

Gordon sighed. "This better work."

* * *

Gordon watched the vigilante boy as he disappeared into the trees near the hyena pit. Then he continued to the police cordon around Joker and his crew.

He pushed forward and, with a few words, passed the riot squad with their shields keeping the criminals contained. "Joker," he said, looking across the clearing around the pit.

Joker turned, and looked directly at Gordon. "Commissioner," he said. "Why am I not surprised you're here? You always seem to be trying to get in on my little tricks."

"Let the hostages go," Gordon insisted, knowing his words would be fruitless, but going through the motions. "They don't have anything to do with this."

Joker shrugged, then reached out and quickly grabbed a little girl. "You want to know how I got these scars?" he asked the crowd in general. "Well, when I was just a boy, I got into a little trouble with the law. A drunk cop caught me smashing shop windows. And I was terrified." He pulled a jagged blade and started pressing it to the little girl's face. "He took out a knife and told be that bad boys had to be punished, and then they'd be good boys. He asked me, doesn't the idea of being a good boy make you happy? He approached me, saying 'why so serious?'" The knife was pressed into the girl's cheek, and Gordon drew his sidearm.

"Uh-uh," said the blonde woman in harlequin's make-up, dangling a small boy over the edge of the pit. Below, the hyenas snapped and growled.

There was a loud rustle, and a black and red figure landed on the railing around the edge of the pit. Gordon restrained a sigh of relief. Red Robin had made it.

"That's at least the third scar story you've told," he drawled. "But, I suppose, if you've got to have a past, it might as well be multiple choice. Now, let's negotiate. We want the hostages. What do you want?"


	38. Feeding Time

**Black and Red Chapter 38 Feeding Time**

Gordon watched carefully as Red Robin balanced on the railing around the hyena pit, an air of cocksure self-confidence verging on arrogance at odds with his earlier concern for the hostages.

"So, do you even know what you want?" Red Robin asked Joker. "Or are you just going with the flow? We can work with that too."

Joker put down the little girl, and Quinzel hauled her hostage back to safety. "Just trying to make a point," Joker answered. "How far will people go to save their own lives."

"True; some people will go so far as to threaten to feed little kiddies to hyenas," Red Robin agreed. Gordon tried very hard not to gape. The teen had always shown a serious demeanor and a deep wariness for Joker, so why was he being so…sassy?

Joker twitched. "So you're the noble, self-sacrificing type, are you?"

"You got me," Red Robin smirked. "Call it a character flaw."

Joker didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed the girl he'd been menacing earlier and casually flipped her over the railing. Red Robin was moving instantly, and swung from his grapple to catch the girl and bring her back to safety, landing between Joker and Quinzel. He jumped, and nimbly ran along the railing to his previous spot opposite the clown pair, and released the girl to Gordon's care.

Gordon took the child offered to him, hearing her whimper in terror. "It's okay, you're safe now," Gordon told her gently, before passing her back to one of his officers and turning back to the scene.

"Easy to be sure of yourself when you've got all those neat little gizmos," Joker drawled, "Hardly a sacrifice, actually. Seems you're deceiving yourself in your nobility."

"Just because I'm willing to die for the innocent doesn't mean I wouldn't rather we both live," Red Robin shrugged.

"Look, puddin', can we jus' throw someone in the pit?" Quinzel interrupted. "The pretty beasties are getting' hungry."

"That's easy," Red Robin said softly. "Let the hostages go, and I'll jump in myself."

"Hardly a sacrifice," Joker repeated. "I mean, what's the point? You'll just zip out, or use something in one of those belts of yours."

Red Robin's hands reached for the central piece of his wing rig. The strips down his back retracted and he carefully unclipped it. Then he removed the two little belts on his arms, and finally the belt around his waist. "Commissioner? Catch," he said, and Gordon caught the armful of gear. "Fairer now?"

* * *

Red Robin watched Joker's whole body. He had it from Cass that Joker was almost impossible to read (he changed his mind a thousand times a second, and sent too many messages and defied most of them) but this one was slightly less difficult. When he carried an action it could be seen, which let him save the kid. But it was a pain to try to decipher his thoughts on the proposition.

"Now that is an interesting idea," Joker mused. Red Robin kept up an aura of self-confident nonchalance, hiding how desperate he was for Joker to take the bait. Joker would have to think he had an unknown advantage. Making it look like he could sneak off while the cops were distracted would be a decent option.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure these lovely policemen can get the hostages to safety before rescuing me," he shrugged. That should help. Let's see, so Joker releases the hostages, or at least some of them, while he goes into the pit. The cops shepherd the kids away, then get a rope. Meanwhile, Joker and Harley back off and escape. Ivy would be similar.

"If you last that long," Joker leered.

"Well, then, let's raise the stakes a little," Red Robin suggested. "Why don't you get Pam Isley to release her hostages, and she can come and watch?"

"Tha's a great idea!" Harley chirped. She raised her walkie talkie to her lips. "Hey, Red, c'mon over and watch this. Demon Bird's jumpin' inta the hyena pit."

Red Robin turned, and nodded at Gordon, who lifted his own radio. "Allen, Montoya. If Isley stops threatening the hostages, let her through."

There was a squawk, but Red Robin couldn't hear the words. Gordon sighed.

"Well then, relax the cordon and get those people down," he instructed. After a moment, he nodded. "In control at the croc pond."

"Then if you'd like to release your hostages, we can get this done," Red Robin said, turning back to Joker.

Joker grinned. "If you would care to jump…"

"Weapons away from them."

Joker took three steps away from his hostages, as did Harley. "You lot, come here," a police captain Red Robin did not recognize snapped. The hostages broke ranks and fled to safety.

Red Robin balanced on his toes for a mere second, before flipping down to the hyenas. The beasts started circling him, and he found himself automatically reaching for his staff. There was the distinctive laugh-like growl.

Then he spotted something. Joker was tossing another child in after him. Red Robin jumped, and caught the young boy, but landed heavily almost underneath a hyena. He scrambled to his feet, the child a screaming weight in his arms, and backed away. He looped the kid's arms around his neck, and swung him onto his back. "Hold tight, kid," he growled.

"Oracle. Tell Gordon I've got this. Focus on the other hostages."

" _Got it,_ " Oracle replied. " _Isley's heading roughly in your direction-_ "

"Tell Gordon; I'm busy," he snapped, just as one hyena lunged at him. He dodged and backed up further, but then the screaming began.


	39. Success and Failure

**Black and Red Chapter 39 Success and Failure  
**

Red Robin swore, vociferously, in Romani. "Oracle, what just happened?" he demanded, backing into a knarled tree that made up part of the fake landscape. He jumped, grabbed a branch, and heaved himself, and the kid on his back, up.

" _Isley ran into the cordon, and she's started gassing the cops,"_ Oracle said, slightly franticly. " _The Commissioner doesn't know what to do._ "

Red Robin snarled angrily, restraining another bout of swearing. "Tell Gordon I'm on it," he snapped. "Are the other hostages secure?"

" _Uh…hang on…yeah, he says they're fine,_ " Oracle reported back.

"Then tell him I'll be there soon," Red Robin replied. He wrapped an arm around the tree, then reached into one of the compartments in his gloves. He pulled out a blow pipe, stuck a tranquilizer dart in one end, and blew it at the nearest hyena. Again and again, he fired the darts, until the coast was clear.

"Got a good hold?" he asked the boy on his back.

"Uh-huh," came the somewhat muffled response.

"Good, 'cause we're going up," the teen replied. He flicked out the climbing hooks in his gloves, and leapt at the hyena pit wall.

There was yelp from his passenger as he slammed into the brick enclosure. His wrists nearly dislocated with the sudden pressure. Grunting, Red Robin hauled himself up.

"I've got the kid," one the cops above him yelled, as the weight on his back vanished. Then a pair of arms grabbed him and pulled him out of the pit.

"Here," Commissioner Gordon said, passing over Red Robin's belts.

The vigilante nodded his thanks, focusing on the voice in his ear. "Oracle, where's the disturbance? I need bearings. And where'd Joker and Harley get to?"

" _North, past the Aviary and towards the Reptile House – uh, there's a hole in the fence there, that's how they got into the zoo._ " There was a tap-tap-tap. " _The other two just vanished into the gas cloud._ "

Red Robin thumped the button to release his wings. "What's the gas actually doing?" he asked, starting to run.

" _The cops are going pale green. The surface blood vessels are standing out dark green. They're coughing up – I think it's blood, but it's becoming thick, dark green, too viscous._ "

"I know the poison," Red Robin said. "Tell Gordon to keep his people back, and get some people in contamination suits to clear up. We'll need med teams, environmental engineers, and they have to be wearing gas masks. I've got antidotes; that might prevent fatalities." He pulled his breath mask from his belt and slapped it onto his face. He withdrew his med kit, trying to sort through the contents on the run.

" _Cops keep back; med teams and environmental engineers in containment suits and gas masks to clean up the gas,_ " Oracle repeated.

Red Robin didn't reply; his voice would be muffled by the mask, and he didn't have anything to add anyway. He could see the pale green cloud ahead, and knelt, resting the kit on his knee. He finally found out the right drug, grabbed a syringe and tore open a half a dozen sterilized needles. He stuck the first one on the syringe and filled it with the drug, before injecting one dose into his jugular vein – the easiest to reach in his body-concealing suit. He packed up the med kit, and ran into the gas cloud.

It was hard to see, but the nearest of the fallen policemen was near enough to see. Red Robin knelt, stuck a fresh needle on the syringe, and administered to him before hauling him to safety, and going back into the cloud.

"How many were caught in the gas?" he asked after the third rescue.

" _Seven,_ " Oracle replied. " _Are you sure you're safe?_ "

"I should be," Red Robin grunted. "Joker and Harley?"

" _I haven't seen them come out,_ " Oracle answered.

Red Robin mentally swore, again. "Those meds and enviro guys better be coming." With that, he plunged back into the gas.

* * *

Gordon trailed behind the environmental team, staying far enough back to not get in the way or risk getting gassed himself.

There was a line of unconscious men just before the toxic green cloud. The meds started to tend to the fallen, and Red Robin appeared, a seventh figure slung across his shoulders.

"That's all of them," he said, voice badly obscured by the thing over his mouth. "Joker, Harley and Ivy got away. I had to pick between saving this guy or trying to stop them, and I couldn't be sure what they might have had up their sleeves." He shrugged. "I've given them an antidote, which should give them a fighting chance."

The teen pulled out the breath mask and took in deep lungfuls of uncontaminated air. Gordon moved over, and took him by the elbow. "No fatalities, at least yet," he told the child. "Which is much better than I'd hoped for."

"Yeah, that's usually a win with Joker," Red Robin gasped. "But we don't know where he's going to strike next. I just hope we got a lead or two we can trace."


	40. A Clue or Two

**Black and Red Chapter 40 A Clue or Two**

Red Robin clung tightly to the bike as he drove a search pattern. It was a brute of a thing, not nearly as easy to manoeuvre as the slim one he was used to, and much more heavily armed than he was comfortable with.

It was…severely galling that Joker had got away. True, chasing him would have meant a death or two, but with Joker, there were always more deaths. Thinking objectively, he probably should have focussed on the clown.

But that would have been _wrong_.

Sometimes there are no good options to take.

Well, they had a few leads now. Oracle had called in to report that the various trainers Ivy had been holding hostage all had animal cruelty accusations against them – which indicated she had a slightly wider field of interest than the Ivy back home. But extending eco-terrorism to the animal world kind of made sense.

Assuming Ivy had given them an extra series of leads, they could have a whole new selection of extra targets, or they might be able to narrow down their existing list. Red Robin made a mental note to get Oracle to run more checks.

Then there was the poison. That one was based on a pollen, with a toxin used to discourage predators carried within it. The source plant for the toxin was found in the African jungle, so there were limited places where Ivy could have got it. If they could find out where she got it, they might be able to trace Ivy's main lab, and from there, the base the trio were using.

Slightly worryingly, there was no sign of Scarecrow, and no indication of him trying to get his chemicals. Hopefully Crane was going on the theory that it was safest to wait until Joker was out of the picture – or until Joker had taken out the opposition.

A flare of light lit up the road in front of him. He turned the bike into a spin, reaching up to the tiny controls for his mask lenses, and activated a tinted filter that slid over the eye-holes. Blinking the stars in his eyes, he pulled the bike over and leapt clear.

The Lowland Trust Bank had a buzz of activity. A posse of men in dark clothes and balaclavas carrying bulging sacks were emerging, led by a man in a dark orange suit with a harness stocked with large glass pellets over his chest. His jaw was concealed beneath a bandit-style handkerchief.

Red Robin vaulted his fallen vehicle and charged. Punch, duck, kick, twist, another punch, and just the boss left. He sprang towards the man, just as his opponent produced a pair of spheres on chains, whipping them around. One caught him in the stomach, and both started issuing a noxious green smoke. Red Robin landed hard, choked for a moment, and scrabbled to retrieve his breath mask for the second time that night.

At that point, the light from the flash bomb wore off, and between the tinted lenses and the smoke, Red Robin lost all sight. He flicked his lenses back to normal configuration and pushed himself up again.

He was about eighty-five percent sure he knew who he was up against. The blonde hair, something about the brow, the soft brown of the eyes, it all matched one of his mentally catalogued profiles. One that he had special reason to be familiar with.

His maybe-future-father-in-law, Cluemaster.

"Why does the universe hate me?" he moaned, the words badly garbled by the breath mask.

" _Sorry, what was that?_ " Oracle chirped in his ear.

Red Robin mentally swore, he was really off his game right now. "Get cops to my location, Lowland Trust Bank, Marine Street."

" _Lowland Trust, Marine Street,_ " Oracle echoed. " _I'm – oh, wait a sec._ "

Red Robin put the interruption to the back of his mind. He just had to focus on the matter at hand, stopping Cluemaster.

Half a street away, Cluemaster and his two remaining lackeys had disappeared into a condemned shop. Red Robin sprinted after them. Crashing through the door, he found his quarry fled. He sighed, and tried his best to think back to the reports he'd read on Cluemaster.

He first popped up when Dick was Robin, fairly early in his career, too. And his first target then had been the Lowland Trust Bank, but…he'd been lying in wait. He'd planned his assault so it would be disrupted by Batman, the tricks meant to distract and delay…because he'd had a few tricks to try and locate and identify Batman.

Assuming everything was the same here, that meant there should be a spinning panel with the clue on the back.

He quickly went through the back rooms, and before too long he found the panel. He span it, and found the board with the illustration. There was a note written in thick marker pen above it.

' _You missed your first chance to capture me! If you want a second, solve this clue before my next crime in 24 hours!'_

Below it appeared to be a long line of Russian Cossacks – just the heads, with massive hats. Red Robin frowned. It looked like the clue was the same as it had been back home, but-

" _Red Robin! Get here now!"_ Oracle shrieked in his ear. " _Joker's here!"_


	41. Not a Joke

**Black and Red Chapter 41 Not a Joke  
**

Babs looked away from the computer at the sound of the doorbell. She quickly excused herself to Rob, pulled out her earpiece and hurried to the door. Her 'new' mother, Aunt Barbara, was also moving to answer it, but Rob's strangely insistent warning rang in her ears. 'Be sure to check the door before you answer it...'

Babs swung back the cover on the peephole, standing on tiptoe to see through. Beyond, she saw messy green hair and smeared face paint over horrific scaring.

She yelped, fear causing her heart to race as she fought to keep calm. She sprang away, instinctively pressing her back to the door as though to prevent the intruder from breaking in. She met the confused gaze of her mother.

"You should go wake Jimmy," she said, keeping her voice low. "Joker's come for us."

Her mother gaped, but presumably took the terror in Babs' eyes at face value. "I'll call Jim," she yipped hysterically, grabbing the cordless phone and running towards Jim Junior's room. "You grab a jacket or something."

Babs waited until her mom was out of earshot before reinserting her earpiece. "Red Robin, Joker's here!" she hissed, running towards Rob's room. "What do we do?"

The comm was full of half-bitten curses. " _Is the fire escape clear? Go up. He won't expect it and you've got good rooftops._ "

"I'm grabbing your computer," Babs informed him, digging out the tatty backpack he'd brought the pieces home in. She pulled the plug out, crashing the computer but it wasn't important, and tipped it into the bag. She threw in the police radio, zipped it up and pulled it on. She ran out, and found her mom. "Mom, Rob's out," she informed her. "If we go out via the fire escape, we can hide on the roof."

"No, that's ridiculous," Barbara senior protested. "We should hide, or, or-"

Babs' brain stuttered. She'd always been taught to respect her parents' wishes, but Rob knew what he was doing - heck, this stuff was his lifeblood. "I'm just thinking strategically," she said. "If we're not here, they can't find us. They'd expect us to head for street level, not the roof." She forced herself to shrug nonchalantly. "I'm going up. Follow me or don't."

She turned and hurried towards the fire escape. Behind her, the door shook under a thundering knock. "We'll be talking about this later, young lady," Mom hissed.

"As long as there is a later," Babs shot back. The door trembled again. "Quick, before he breaks the door down!"

Mom grabbed Jimmy's hand as the three of them emerged outside. They just heard the thunderous crash of the door collapsing, and started to run. Babs regretted not returning to her own room for sneakers or even slippers as she felt the cold metal beneath her feet, but pushed the thought away. Rob said that when on the streets you often had to blinker yourself to all but the problem and the solution. Joker was coming, and all that mattered was getting away before he caught them.

Babs was in the lead as they reached the roof. "Which way?" she hissed to her comm.

" _Ah, let's see, facing the street, go…right. The other building's fire escape will give you a bit of extra manoeuvring room."_ The comm was picking up the whoosh of air, presumably from the racing bike Rob was riding. " _You'll want a run up, just to be on the safe side."_

Babs orientated herself, and ran. Reaching the edge of the roof, she just heard Mom screaming as she hurtled herself towards the next block. She slammed into the wall, grasped the roof, and hauled herself up. She turned back to see Mom standing, completely aghast.

"Throw Jimmy to me," she called back. "I'll catch him."

Mom seemed to have frozen up, but Jimmy stepped back a little, took a run up and jumped. Babs lunged, and grabbed his arms. He hung above the fire escape for a moment before dropping to it. He sprang up the steps to the roof with Babs.

"C'mon, Mom," Babs called. "We have to keep moving."

" _Keep heading in the same direction,"_ Rob advised. " _When you reach the end of the street, get back to ground level."_

Mom finally jumped. "Are you insane?!" she hissed. "You're going to kill yourself."

"If we don't keep moving, Joker will definitely kill us," Babs retorted. "Come on."

She turned, and ran to the next roof. She could hear Mom and Jimmy following, and even though she knew she was going to be in big trouble later, they were getting away.

Then she heard a gunshot. She turned, and saw…Joker. She quickly shrugged off the backpack. "Keep going," she hissed. "I'll distract him."

"No, you can't!" Mom protested. "It's not safe!"

"Get Jimmy to safety, Aunt Barbara," Babs said, deliberately emphasising the difference between herself and Jimmy. Mom looked hurt, but stopped arguing.

Babs started running back towards home. She didn't risk the jump, but stayed clearly in view.

Joker stood on the other roof, the gulf between buildings all that separated them.

"Leave us alone," Babs insisted. "If you don't leave us, you'll be in so much trouble when Red Robin and the cops get here."

Some guy in a clown mask ran up with a ladder, and laid it across the gap. Joker stepped across, and Babs retreated. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"You know how I got these scars?" Joker asked. "I was just a boy, and I heard some people fighting. And I went outside, and saw a man standing over the body of a man he'd just stabbed. I said, 'You killed him! Why?' and he said, 'None of your business, kid.' So I said, 'I'm going to tell someone about you. You can't just kill people.' And he said, 'Is that so? Why so serious, kid? Why so serious?'"

Joker slowly moved towards Babs, pulling out a knife. "'Why so serious?' he said. 'Why so serious?'"

Red and black swept across the roof, and Rob was _there,_ between her and Joker. "'Cause killing people is pretty damn serious business," he snarled.


	42. Just One Day...

**Black and Red Chapter 42 Just One Day…**

Red Robin felt nothing. At. All. He wasn't furious at Joker for going after the Gordons. He wasn't terrified for his protégé's sake. He wasn't irritated with her for putting herself in harm's way. He wasn't desperate to get everything sorted. He wasn't panicking that he had a mounting, achingly personal crisis.

There wasn't time.

He crouched protectively on front of Oracle. His eyes were locked on Joker, occasionally darting over to Harley, who'd come along without Ivy. Joker was a riot of contradiction. One moment he wanted to pull a gun. Then he was weighing the knife in his hand to throw it. Then he contemplated stepping back and letting Harley have a go. His body twitched with a thousand plans created and discarded at the speed of thought.

Harley was easier to read; she was waiting to be told what to do. Since leading the zoo she'd managed to acquire a giant hammer she was resting across her shoulders. Red Robin ha a small measure of familiarity with the weapon, having dodged it enough times in his home world. She had the same gymnastic frame he was familiar with, and he knew that when she fixed on a course of action she'd be marginally easier to read than Joker – but a lot of her style of movement was similar to that practised by the Bats, which was an open book. Harley wouldn't be too difficult.

"Little Red Robin, trying to fill the shadow of the big bad Bat," Joker smirked. "Fighting the madness as though it will make sense. What's the matter; having a bad day? No, you're having another bad day. Am I right?"

Red Robin was sure he'd gone ghost white. He cast a hand out behind him and gestured Oracle to back up, retreating himself to stay close to her. Bruce had recorded the whole sorry tale of when Babs was paralysed, and there were too many similarities to ignore.

Joker continued, advancing slowly, tossing the knife in his hand. "That's all that separates the crazy from the normal, isn't it? One bad day. You know that. I know that. I bet the Bat had a bad day once, right? Dent sure knew that."

Red Robin snarled. "Leave Dent out of it."

"Don't you want to know how easy it was?" Joker taunted. "One bad day, and the best will fall. Just one day to make a difference."

Oracle was trembling with fear, and Red Robin had a nasty suspicion she feared Joker was right more than she feared his malevolence. The one day theory was an infrequent but significant topic back home, and they'd never reached any conclusion, because one day did make such a difference – but what broke one man, and tempered another?

There wasn't much roof left to retreat over, and Joker was still talking, getting into their heads, trying to twist their minds. "One day, and I'm a clown. One day, and he's a bat. One day, and you're a bird. You remember that one day?"

Red Robin couldn't help it. The words went straight to his memory banks. There _had_ been one day that changed everything. One day when he committed himself utterly to doing whatever Bruce would need for the Mission. The day his mother was killed, his father arrested, and Dick Grayson took him to Bruce who told him…he was good enough. After ten years of his parents telling him he was a worthless waste of oxygen, he was accepted. And he'd do _anything_ for those who accepted him.

"One day." Red Robin heard his own voice as though it was very far away. "Yeah, one day made the difference…" He snapped back to attention. Time for reminiscence later. He smiled viciously. "Best damn day of my life."

He lunged for Joker.

The knife flew away, and a gun pressed into his ribs. Twist aside; strike the wrist. Damn it all. Harley. Hammer- no- close one. Staff out. Duck, roll. Vault, grab the head of the hammer, hang on so she can't lift it, pressure the handle- snap. Good.

"Red!"

Red Robin turned. Joker had Oracle in a chokehold, dangling her off the edge of the roof. Red Robin scrambled up, having been thrown a dozen paces away in the fight with Harley, and-

Oracle went into freefall.

He went off the edge, pushing against the edge to provide sufficient downward thrust to catch up. He pulled his grapple, snagged the falling girl, and fired. The momentum sent them spinning towards a wall, and Red Robin growled, "Hold on!" He twisted, feeling Oracle lock her arms around his neck, and kicked away from the wall as he spread his wings. A brief glide, and they were safely on the ground.


	43. Back on the Job

**Black and Red Chapter 43 Back on the Job**

"Babs? I need two carjacks and a bucket of soapy water."

"Fine, I'll ask one of the _helpful policemen who know where things are around here_."

"Thanks."

Red Robin finished inspecting his bike as the jacks arrived. "Water will be along soon, kid," the cop told him.

"What do you need it for?" Babs asked.

"I ran into Cluemaster, and he'd set out a radioactive tracer that got on the wheels," Red Robin explained. "Look." He got out a small blacklight and switched it on. It revealed a substance coating the tire and spreading out behind it to show where it had been.

"How did you know?" Babs asked.

"He did this first time out back home," Red Robin explained absently. "That was during the first Robin's time in the position. They didn't actually find out about it until the interrogation after Cluemaster was apprehended. The Batmobile ended up going through a puddle of gas later that evening, and the tracer was washed off."

"Who is Cluemaster?" Babs asked.

"Bucket of water?" another policeman said from the door to the garage.

"Over here, thanks," Red Robin called, making sure the bike was securely balanced on the jacks.

"Here you are," the cop said. "You okay, miss?"

"Just keeping Red Robin company," Babs smiled.

"Alright," the cop dismissed. No doubt he recognised her as Gordon's daughter. "Anything else?"

"If there's a pot of coffee brewing, I wouldn't mind some," Red Robin said hopefully.

The cop laughed. "Keep stopping Joker from killing us, and you can have as much as you like. I'll bring some down."

Red Robin waited until the cop left before answering Babs' question. "Arthur Brown. He was a quizmaster. Always thought he was much smarter than his contestants, until he got fired. One too many complaints about his arrogance and condescending attitude. His main goal was actually to show up Batman, exposing him and humiliating him. At least, that's how it was back home." He finished scrubbing the front wheel and pulled out the blacklight again so he could check it before moving on to the rear wheel. "I'll have to check him out to see if it's the same here, but he's following the plan his counterpart did. Now, what did you do tonight that was foolish?"

"What?" Babs said, momentarily floored by the change of subject. "Uh, I don't know. I can't think of anything."

"You did pretty well over the coms," Red Robin told her approvingly. "There was a little miscommunication at the zoo, but that was partly my fault. When Joker turned up on your doorstep you identified him and carried out a successful evacuation. So why did you confront him?"

Babs bristled. "He was coming after us, and I needed to distract him to give Mom and Jimmy - civilians - a chance to escape."

"Because you put yourself in harm's way, I had to rescue you, and lost a chance to apprehend Joker," Red Robin said bluntly. "You're not trained, you're not equipped and you couldn't defend yourself. You-"

He cut off as the cop returned with a thermos flask. "There you go," he said. "Need anything else, just give us a yell."

"Thanks," Red Robin smiled. He took a long gulp, and resumed scrubbing.

"What should I have done, then?" Babs asked defensively. "Let Joker shoot us in the back?"

Red Robin ran a wet and grimy hand through his hair. "You should have back off as soon as I arrived to cover your retreat," he ruled. "Other than that, you were right."

"Uh, I thought you said I was foolish?" Babs asked, confused.

"Yeah, well, that's how it goes sometimes," Red Robin shrugged. "There isn't always a good option."

"But…we didn't do too bad?" Babs asked.

"You pulled it off; it counts as a win," Red Robin agreed. He pulled out his blacklight and checked the wheel. "There we go," he murmured. He carefully removed the jacks, stood up, and stretched. "C'mon, I left the computer in the Commissioner's office, and we need to catch up on the feed on Sionis we've missed."

"Won't we be missing out on what's happening now if we watch what happened then?" Babs asked, following Red Robin as he headed into the HQ proper.

"I'll set it at five times playback speed, and slow it when I need to," Red Robin explained. "Advantage of hanging around a speedster; you get used to deciphering speech at abnormal speeds."

"What else needs to be done?" Babs asked.

"I'll check into Cluemaster's past, see how similar it is to what I remember from home," Red Robin thought aloud. "I'm pretty sure his next strike will be on the Arabian Nights exhibition at the Gotham Art Museum, but I probably ought to check that's actually happening. Oh, and you're probably going to have ti answer some awkward questions."

"Awkward questions," Babs echoed.

"Mm. Your mother appears to be going into shock, which will buy you a little time. Hmm. You know, I reckon the Commissioner might want to speak to me about my information broker."

Babs huffed, no doubt recognizing the hint. "Are we going to be in trouble?"

Red Robin paused, then pulled Babs towards a window, clambering onto the fire escape. "The Commissioner is going to be disappointed, but as long as he understands it was of your own free will, I think he'll accept it," he sighed. "He won't be happy with me, especially after your little stunt on the roof. Your mother is going to be furious. Whatever you tell her, she'll probably think you have a hero complex. She's bound to have worked out my pseudonym, so you can throw me under the bus if it helps."

Babs shook her head. "No, I'm not doing that," she protested.

"Think!" Red Robin hissed. "It doesn't matter what she thinks of me. I'm going home, remember? But the rest of your life could be hinging on what you tell her."

"Fine," Babs capitulated. "But I'm sticking with you through this. Until Joker's put away, you need Oracle."


	44. The Worst Consequences

**Black and Red Chapter 44 The Worst Consequences**

"What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

Red Robin met Gordon's gaze, but he knew Babs was yielding to it. "We were doing what was necessary to keep as many people alive as possible."

"That's your excuse for turning my daughter into a soldier?" Gordon snarled.

"Actually, I trained her to be a non-combatant," Red Robin shrugged.

"And that includes facing off with Joker, does it?" Gordon demanded sceptically.

"The situation was handled imperfectly, yes," Red Robin said evasively.

"You almost got her killed," Gordon retorted.

"It was my choice," Babs snapped. Red Robin focused on the frosted glass window of the office door where his protégé was reflected. Babs was focused on her father, eyes bright. It was the fire of pure determination. He'd seen it so many times, in Bruce's eyes, in Dick's, in Jason's and Dami's and Steph's and Cass' and their Babs' and his own.

"Young lady, you are eleven years old, and not old enough to-"

"To die?" Babs retorted. "Because I'm eleven, I'm not old enough to be targeted. Is that it? Mom was going to answer the door without checking, Jimmy seemed to think it was a game if the way he took to roof-hopping is any indication, so who else was going to keep them safe until backup arrived?"

"And you taught her that," Gordon said to Red Robin. It wasn't a question.

"I taught her information broking and mission control, then a little self-defence," Red Robin retorted. "I told her she's not ready for the streets. She won't be for several years, unless she does something seriously intense. Back home, your daughter is one of the best we could have. All I wanted was to keep her safe." He reached across and opened up the computer. "There's something I can show you to explain why I'm doing this. I have a backup of our archives and there's one particular file. It's…not pleasant." The computer came online, and he plugged in a flash drive. He quickly found the file and punched it up. "There's…pictures. Babs, I'd rather you didn't see them, but you have more right than anyone else."

Babs got to the computer first, and yelped. She smacked a hand over her mouth, eyes fixed on the image in horror. Gordon hurried round the desk to see for himself.

"Hell," he growled. "That's…that's…how?"

"It was about a year before I started," Red Robin said flatly. "Joker bust out, and decided to…break Commissioner Gordon. He went to his house, and his seventeen-year-old daughter answered the door without checking who was there. Her boyfriend found her. Gordon was missing. B successfully retrieved him with no longer-term psychological trauma, but we only found a way to repair Babs' spinal cord and restore her mobility some months ago. She was paralysed for five years."

"You have _images_ of that?!" Babs squeaked.

"Joker took them," Red Robin said simply. "He had a…rather effective strategy." He closed the file. "Babs is a target. So are Babs Senior and James Junior, but Babs has the potential to be an asset. She has the drive. And she got enough of a taste from Two-Face that it's in her blood. I'm keeping her alive, because I know what the alternative is."

"That's cold," Babs said. She looked like she was curling in on herself, trying to hide from the revelation. She was scared, and felt vulnerable. "You were…using me. Like some sort of tool."

"Yeah," Red Robin admitted. "Like I used the cops at the zoo for the cordon, or the cops during the gang war to keep incidents under control. I use you to get the information, and I use myself to take out the targets. That's how it works on the streets. Objectives, assets, targets. You're an asset. I'm an asset. Your father's an asset. Joker, Harley, Ivy, Scarecrow, Mask, they're targets. Keeping the civilians alive is the objective. Keeping _you_ alive is an objective. Yeah, I use you. Like a tool. But I'm a tool, too. That's how I live." He looked away. "I can't really explain it. We have a goal, and we get it done. Babs wanted to help, so I taught her how. If that makes her a tool, she's no more so than I am."

"You're children," Gordon retorted.

"I never had a childhood," Red Robin barked back. "Sometimes things go wrong and a child is never given the chance to be a child, and then all that matters is making that loss of normality mean something. I swore to do whatever was necessary to accomplish the Mission Batman fights, and I cannot give up on it because that is all I have to make sense of the complete mess that is life."

"That is seriously messed up," Babs whispered.

"Yeah," Red Robin admitted. "Send a screw-up to take down a screw-up, 'cause we won't stop. But you've got it too, Babs. Facing death makes you come to life. Two-Face, Joker, they've taken your normality. But it's your choice. You wanna back out, just say so."

"Barbara, you can't," Gordon said.

"Because letting everything break us is the most sensible option," Babs replied. "It's my choice, and I choose to be Oracle." She glanced up at Red Robin. "I'll stay off the streets. At least until I'm older."

"If you're flying solo, at least sixteen," Red Robin advised.

"You can't just-" Gordon protested.

"You want Joker caught, don't you?" Red Robin interrupted. "Oracle, I suggest relocating our base of operations. Clearly the Gordons' guest bedroom is no longer secure." He glanced idly around Gordon's office. "This place should do nicely."


	45. Heartbreak

**Black and Red Chapter 45 Heartbreak**

"I'm in trouble," Babs said in a small voice.

Red Robin looked up. "Not too much," he shrugged. "Not yet. Not until your mother wakes up." He turned back to the computer.

Babs hopped up on the edge of Gordon's desk. "Dad's not happy with me," she whined. "What did he say after he sent me out?"

"He trusts me to keep you safe, but wants you to quit getting involved in vigilantism as soon as I leave." He shrugged. "I think he understood that your brush with death was the result of an unpredicted event, and that without my prior intervention it would have been much worse. But I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to leave Gotham."

"What did you say?"

"I'm not letting you follow me onto the streets," he said curtly. "I'm going to trust that you know not to try on your own."

"At least until I'm sixteen, you said," Babs reminded him.

"I'm going to leave you the flash drive," Red Robin continued. "It's got designs for all our equipment, including suits. I suggest you try to replicate the most recent Batgirl suit – well, the name and outer design is up to you, but I think the balance of armour to lightweight-ness will suit you best. Study the files. Learn everything you can from them. Learn martial arts. Practise. Train."

"Do you think I can do it?" she asked.

He sighed. "I think you have a chance. As long as you put in the work before you throw yourself in blindly."

Babs considered. "How much of what you said earlier was true?"

Red Robin stilled. He felt himself deflating, painful memories surfacing. "All of it," he whispered. "My parents always told me I was useless. A burden. Textbook emotional abuse, combined with fairly shocking neglect. Of course I thought it was normal to be left at home alone for months at a time at the age of five, so I didn't really understand what was happening was wrong. I was about seven when I gave up on trying to win their approval. Then…one thing led to another. I acted behind the scenes to help heal a rift between B and Nightwing. And then I ended up being taken in by them. They didn't know what I'd done. They couldn't have known I was anything more than the burden my parents branded me. But they accepted me as part of the family. No questions, no conditions. They didn't give me their secrets, but they accepted that I could be…anything. Anything I wanted to be." Red Robin found himself laughing in astonishment at the memory that still baffled him. "They had such confidence in me. They were the first people to ever treat me like a person of some value. Of course I'm going to do everything I can to help them in their goals. Their mission is my mission. Their fights are my fights. I'll always do as they taught me, and they taught me to save people from crime." He shook his head slightly. "Yeah, that was four years ago. I've…come into my own a little, but when you get down to it, I'm still just trying to repay a debt that they don't think I owe and I don't think I can fulfil. It's weird and screwed up, but it's my life."

"Profound," Babs murmured. "So when you called yourself a tool-"

"My brain, and my body, and my strength, and my will; they're all tools in the Mission," Red Robin agreed. "I use myself. That's all."

"And you use me," Babs stated.

"I use what you gave me to use," Red Robin corrected her. "And just because I use you doesn't mean I don't care for you."

"You jumped off a building for me; I know you care," Babs reminded him.

Red Robin sighed, and ran his hand through his head. "I couldn't stand by. I can't, not when someone's in danger. It's not who I am." He finally managed to refocus on the computer. "You should go get some sleep."

"Shouldn't you?" Babs frowned.

"I can get some later," Red Robin dismissed. "I need to catch up on what Mask has been doing. You can cover the live feed when you wake up."

"If you're sure," Babs said slowly. She hopped down. "See you in a few hours."

"'Night," Red Robin said absently. He picked up a pair of earphones from Gordon's desk, and plugged them in, inserting one so he could keep listening to the world around him.

Mask had received worryingly accurate reports of Joker's movements through the night. It wasn't clear who his source was, but it was more accurate than anything that could have been gleaned from the media. Red Robin had to focus to keep up with the speech at triple speed. Mask was now really rather determined not to get on Joker's bad side.

Then he received a report on Cluemaster.

That…was concerning, seeing as the only one who he'd told about Cluemaster was Babs. And she couldn't be his source.

Eventually Sionis went to bed, and the recording caught up to the present. Red Robin switched audio source to the live feed and started his research.

First came the clue. He was fairly sure he knew what it was, so it didn't take long. The picture of a line of Cossacks, flipped upside down, also made a line of men hiding in jars. A la Ali Baba's forty thieves. Then he checked the schedule at the Gotham Art Museum. Arabian Nights exhibition. Check.

Then digging into Arthur Brown. Quizmaster, couple of clips, yup, there was the condescension. And…family.

He'd applied for a passport for his daughter, and Steph's photo was on record.

It was about a month since he'd last seen her.

Boy did he miss her.


	46. Ambush

**Black and Red Chapter 46 Ambush**

Red Robin stayed down. "Oracle, I'm in position. Tell me when I'm clear."

Sionis had contacted Joker and set up a meeting. He kept all his notes and plans on his phone. So to get the data, Red Robin just had to take the phone.

And unlock it, hack any protected data and so on, but that would be the easy bit.

" _Clear,_ " Oracle murmured. " _Mask dropped off five minutes ago._ "

"The watch rotated out of view?" Red Robin hissed.

" _Yeah. Go._ "

Red Robin flipped down, his climbing hooks holding him in position. The window was no real obstacle, and his wings were coiled in their master unit, just to keep them out of the way. The patrol routes in Sionis' townhouse had left enough leeway for a little surreptitious sneaking. And the carnival masks Sionis insisted his guards wear helped.

Taking out Sionis would be helpful, but a tactically bad move right now. They had no evidence with which to hold him, and besides, Red Robin couldn't abduct him without attracting attention. Which would reflect back on the GCPD. This mission was to acquire evidence that could hopefully be used against Sionis in court, which would free his hands to take him out.

Red Robin hadn't mentioned to anyone his plan B, which involved him privately taking Sionis and stashing him somewhere. He didn't have a place to stash him, except maybe the Batcave, or the Bunker, if he could sneak him past B, but he didn't have transport suitable for kidnapping. There was always the…permanent way to take Sionis out, but he wasn't _Hood_. Well, Jason had agreed to toe the line, but the point stood.

Hopefully there'd be enough on Sionis' phone to justify a take-out op.

* * *

It had been a harrowing day. A bunch of cops had descended on Arthur Brown's house to find him absent. A stakeout had been placed on the Art Museum anyway. And the phone had presented an array of problems when Sionis noticed its absence and tried to remotely erase it. Which sent Red Robin sprinting for the nearest kitchenette to shove it in a microwave to block the signal, followed by hacking into Apple's accounts to override the erase signal, which delayed their efforts in retrieving the data…

Oh, and Sionis was meeting Joker at sundown.

Red Robin pressed himself flat to the rafters of the warehouse, watching. The cops were out of sight, a cordon ready to drop at the Commissioner's word. Gordon ready to give it at Oracle's signal. Oracle waiting for his order. There were times when it was really irritating to have to keep up appearances.

Sionis was waiting. He was pacing slightly. Joker wasn't here. He was late, but that wouldn't mean much to the Clown Prince of Crime. Hopefully Sionis hadn't and wouldn't pick up on the microphones Red Robin had laid out before anyone arrived to send audio feed to the cops.

The door slammed open. This Joker looked hunched, grimy and a different sort of menacing. His hair brushed his collar, his make-up perpetually smudged. There was something…disquieting about him. Like he'd _chosen_ the path he walked. The Joker back home hadn't had _that_ much choice in being doused in caustic, mind-altering chemicals, and that kind of made a difference. In some ways, it was easier to attribute atrocities to insanity than human cruelty.

Harley trailed after Joker. She was wearing a black and red evening gown that clashed with the blonde pigtails riding high on her scalp and the grin on her face both manic, and a little vacant. She'd brought along her hammer. There was no sign of Ivy.

" _You took your time."_

" _You wanted to meet me; you don't get to complain."_

" _Red Robin."_

" _Tricksy little birdie."_ Joker shrugged. _"What about him?"_

" _I found a few things you light like to know."_

" _Ah, I don't need you,"_ Joker interrupted. _"You called this meeting. You want something. What do you want?"_

" _I want the bird taken care of."_

" _And I should do it for you…why?"_

" _I can pay you."_

Joker tsked. _"I like guns. Knives. Explosives. Gasoline. Nothing expensive."_

" _How about information? I have people in the GCPD. They passed on some interesting little details."_

Red Robin mouthed a few curses. He couldn't think of anything too vital that could have been passed on, and presumably Sionis didn't know about the cordon in waiting, but…

" _I don't want to know who he is,_ " Joker protested. " _Then the game's all over."_

" _I don't have a name; the boy's not that incautious. He's claiming to be from a parallel universe. A protégé of the Bat. He's based out of the GCOD, suspected he's been in deep with the Commissioner's family, and he's close to the girl you threw off the roof last night."_

" _He's still only human. He can be broken."_ Joker reached into his jacket and pulled out a crowbar.

Red Robin felt his heartbeat pick up. Joker, with a crowbar, after a Robin. Going after Babs was bad, but this…? He forced himself to calm down.

" _If you don't want the bird to be revealed, you might want to think about this new thief who popped up last night,"_ Sionis shrugged. _"According to my people, Bird Boy knows him. And wasn't careful enough when he was telling the Gordon girl all about him."_

Red Robin mouthed a few more curses. He really hadn't been careful enough. And he'd put Babs in danger from dirty cops. But surely Gordon had trustworthy people watching his family. _"We can use that,"_ Joker muttered. _"Play the thief off against the bird."_

" _I have something that might help,"_ Sionis said, an audible smirk in his voice. He gestured, and one of his men pulled a sack out of the shadows. It was upturned to reveal-

A toddler. Female. Blonde hair. About three years old. Bound and gagged and terrified. Red Robin lost the ability to breathe as he fixed his gaze on her.

" _His daughter,"_ Sionis announced. _"You want her?"_

Joker grinned. He hefted the crowbar, and stalked forward.

Red Robin found his lungs working again as he screamed a curse, a proper Romani gypsy curse, and threw himself down.

_Not Steph._


	47. Going South

**Black and Red Chapter 47 Going South**

Red Robin's head was fuzzy as the blood pounded in his ears. Everything was a mess, except for a few key facts.

There was Steph.

There was Joker.

There was Black Mask.

Steph was in danger.

Steph, his beloved girlfriend, his babe, his sweetheart, the light of his life, his _Steph_ , was in danger, and he had to protect her.

He was dimly aware that something else was going on that he should be paying attention to, but he was tired from being up for two days straight, and Joker hitting his triggers, and all he could focus on was Steph.

He lunged for the bundle of toddler and scooped her up. He ducked his head through the loop of her arms found by her bound hands, used one arm to cradle her close, and spun out his staff with the other. Harley swung her hammer; he pivoted. Joker whipped the crowbar through the air; he twisted to block his access to Steph and rolled with the blow. Steph seemed to have realised at least some of what was going on. She started clinging to him, and Red Robin finally managed to draw breath.

" _-going on in there?_ " the voice in his ear squeaked. " _I can hear movement, but I have no idea what you said. Did you give the signal?_ "

Oracle. Signal. For the cops to move in. Damn. "Do it," Red Robin grunted. He could see Mask's me pointing guns, but he was too close to Mask for them to risk shooting. He just had to deal with the immediate threats.

Dodge, duck, swipe, deflect, jab, twist, dodge, swing, vault, lather, rinse, repeat…

"This is the police! We have you surrounded! Drop your weapons and ands behind your heads or we will open fire! Do it now!"

And all hell broke loose.

Mask's men started shooting. Harley ran off to join the fight, her gymnastic flair letting her avoid most of the bullets, and the rest just didn't hit her. Mask drew a gun. Joker made another swipe with the crowbar, and Red robin's leg went half-dead.

He'd seriously messed up. Back home, Batman would bench him for a year for a disaster on this scale. But Steph was safe in his arms, and she came first. Then the cops.

He dropped the staff and flicked out a smoke bomb. It was hard to reach up and switch on his night-vision lenses, what with Steph in the way, but he managed it. He started moving, staggering slightly on his bad leg, and drew batarang after batarang, disarming the False Face Society guys, and threw micro-explosive pellets at the dropped guns, destroying them. Luckily the police seemed to have ceased firing, because he didn't want to disarm them, but he couldn't risk Steph.

He'd lost track of Joker, Mask and Harley.

A cop screamed in pain beneath Harley's hammer. Red Robin mentally cursed; he didn't have any tranq 'rangs, and he couldn't use his blowpipe one-handed. He couldn't risk close-quarters, not with Steph, but-

A shot rang out. Red Robin felt the impact of a bullet against his abdomen, enough to leave a welt, but not pierce even the first layer of armour, and _Steph was crying and_ _ **screaming**_ _and she was_ _ **shot**_ _and his precious Steph was_ _ **wounded**_ _and_ _ **bleeding**_ _and she was_ _ **only a child**_ _and_ _ **how could he have let it happen?**_

He took a quick breath to stave off panic. Get her out. She's screaming, so she's not dead, so she needs treatment, so get her out _now_. He pulled out his grapple and zoomed back up to the rafters, sprinted for the skylight and got onto the roof. He pulled her off his neck and set her down gently. She'd managed to work the gag loose, and it hung limply around her neck, but the bonds on her wrists and ankles were leaving red, raw marks. Bet her leg was bleeding profusely. There was an exit wound, which was good, because the bullet wasn't inside her, but far too much blood. The screaming had stopped. She'd passed out.

Red Robin managed to summon the self-awareness to mash the button on his comm to switch it to receive-only. He didn't need Oracle to hear this. "My love, I'm so sorry," he murmured. He knew, rationally, that this wasn't his Steph, his girlfriend, but another version of her, but that didn't stop his heart pounding with adoration. He pulled out his first aid kit, picked out a scalpel, and cut the ties. "I should have been more careful what I said. I should have taken care of Cluemaster first. I should have got you out rather than stay and fight. I should have had the cops wait. Sweetheart, I'm so _sorry_." Tears pricked his eyes as he worked, disinfecting the wounds and staunching the bleeding. "If I weren't here, your father wouldn't have started trying to find who I am, and you wouldn't have been targeted and it's all my fault. I've messed this up so bad, and I'm only making it worse, and _you're hurt_ , and I'll never forgive myself, Steph." His mask was filling up with tears as he pressed dressings over the wounds and bound them in place. "Please be okay, baby, please," he begged. "I don't think I could live with myself if you don't make it."


	48. A Bad, Bad Night

**Black and Red Chapter 48 A Bad Bad Night**

Gordon was just a touch confused. Red Robin's operations had gone sour previously; the last night's encounters with Joker prime examples. But this time, it was the teen himself who'd made it all go wrong.

According to Oracle, they'd arrested about half of the False Face Society, but Black Mask himself, and the two clowns, had escaped. Red Robin had left the scene early, with the hostage, and Oracle said he wasn't talking to her.

"Tell 'im we have ambulances and paramedics here if he needs help," he relayed to Oracle, who repeated the message. She still had a voice-distorter on her police radio, which made it a little strange to pick out some of his daughter's little vocal habits. She actually wasn't too bad at the information work, but she just had to stay out of the field.

" _He's not answering, but I found him on cameras,_ " Oracle announced. " _He's got the girl. They're covered in blood. Can't tell where it's from._ "

There was a gentle thud behind Gordon. "It's hers," said the vigilante, voice soft and broken. "I didn't- she got hurt."

Gordon turned. Red Tobin was cradling the little girl close to his chest, watching her with something that could be tenderness. "How bad?" he asked.

" _And turn your comm back on,_ " Oracle added.

Red Robin touched his earpiece as he passed Gordon to the nearest ambulance. "Bullet to the leg. Straight out; no arterial damage. No complications, just a hole all the way through. I've cleaned and dressed the wounds." He gently set her down on a stretcher, and tensed at the footsteps of an approaching paramedic.

Gordon waved the man off, starting to put a few hints together. "You know her?" he asked.

"She's passed us information on her father's activities a few times," Red Robin nodded. "There was an incident, where we ended up looking out for a whole bunch of civilians, and she helped us out. Started dating our secondary mission controller."

"She's one of your non-combatants," Gordon nodded. "Has she been in danger often?"

"A few times," Red Robin admitted. "Black Mask tortured and nearly killed her." He brushed her hair out of her face, a sort of tender anguish on his face. "I was inactive and out of the loop at the time. I knew things were getting rough. Next thing I knew, I was getting called down to the hospital."

"No wonder you overreacted," Gordon murmured. "But you've got to let the paramedics take her."

"I'd rather not," Red Robin protested, short and angry. Then he softened. "I don't know if we can trust hospital staff. I'd prefer it if she could be put in Oracle's custody."

" _What?_ " Oracle squeaked. " _Uhm, I don't know anything about childcare, and I'm a little busy…_ "

"I really would feel better if she was safe with the GCPD," Red Robin replied, almost pleading. "Mask's got at least one mole there, but if you were watching her…"

" _I really don't think I can,_ " Oracle was starting to sound a little desperate too now.

The girl moaned, whimpered, and woke up. She looked around wildly, and started to cry.

"Shh, it's okay Steph," Red Robin said soothingly. "You're safe. It's all going to be fine."

"Hurts," the toddler whined.

"I know, I know; you got a bit banged up," Red Robin murmured. "Look, I have some pills you can take." He produced a small bottle and shook out a single pill. "Sir? There a bottle of water?"

"Are you sure that's safe to give to her?" Gordon asked, aghast.

"Look, it's not very powerful because I end up taking these pretty regularly and I can't risk getting an opioid addiction," Red Robin whispered. "I know a little about painkillers. Water?"

Gordon found a bottle, and Red Robin helped the girl swallow the medicine.

"What happened?" little Steph asked. "How did I get hurt?"

"Your father upset some people, and those people hurt you," Red Robin explained. "We can take you somewhere we can be sure you will be safe, but you have to be good. Can you do that?"

"I can be good," Steph whispered.

"Oracle?" Red Robin said. The one word was full of desperation and pleading.

" _You mentioned Cluemaster's daughter before,_ " Oracle said. " _Something to do with Spoiler._ "

Gordon frowned. Evidently this was from one of the many private discussions the pair had had over the past month. And it was something significant, if the way Red Robin's face slackened was any indication.

"Please," the teen whispered.

" _Alright,_ " Oracle allowed at last. " _But have her checked by a professional first._ "

"Thank you," Red Robin breathed. "Commissioner, can you…?"

Gordon sighed, and gestured over the paramedic. "Come on, son, she's going to be safe."

The vigilante stepped back, watching like a hawk as the paramedic checked the wound and the dressing on it. Gordon ran through the various policemen and –women he still on site, and started trying to guess who was the most trustworthy.

Allen and Montoya. They'd started coming to every crime scene Red Robin was at, taking the liaison responsibility he'd assigned back when they were just – just! – dealing with a city-wide gang war seriously.

"Allen!" he called.

"Commissioner, sir?" Allen asked.

"Accompany this ambulance back to the GCPD," Gordon instructed. "Then take to girl to my office. If my daughter asks for something to be done, have it done."

"Of course, sir," Allen accepted. "May I ask why?"

"The girl's going into protective custody," Gordon shrugged. "Now's not the time."

The radio in Gordon's care screamed. He answered.

" _Sir, we have a major incident in progress!"_ came the report. " _Outside Wayne Tower._ "

Red Robin apparently was listening. "I'm on it," he sighed. "I'm under control now."

"You better be."


	49. Screams in the Dark

**Black and Red Chapter 49 Screams in the Dark**

All Red Robin could do was trust that Steph was safe, because he had a greater priority. Now the sheer terror of seeing his beloved's younger self in imminent danger had faded, he could see how his actions had been the wrong ones. By his actions, the cops Gordon had entrusted him with had been put in far too much danger and they hadn't even caught any big fish to show for it.

Not now. He could indulge in self-flagellation later. Now there was a different threat to deal with.

"Oracle, what do you have for me?" he asked.

" _I think it's Scarecrow,"_ Oracle reported. _"The descriptions match, but the cameras can only pick up a cloud of gas."_

"We still have access to the system controls at Wayne Tower, right?" Red Robin asked. "The Tower should have a lockdown protocol. I need you to activate it and leave it in place until the gas is gone."

" _Might take me a minute,"_ Oracle murmured. _"Anything else?"_

"Relay to Gordon to have his men stay back until they get gas masks," he instructed. "If they've got supplies of the antidote they had last time, break them out, just in case."

" _Police stay back, gas masks, antidote,"_ Oracle repeated. _"Got it."_ She started repeating his instructions, no doubt into her police radio.

Red Robin gritted his teeth. He really needed to get his own breath mask on, but the damn bike he was using was too unwieldy to risk taking a hand off. Maybe if he was fully grown, like Bruce, but until then, he didn't have the weight to keep it in check. And then the fear gas itself was troubling. He didn't have one of the analysers used to identify gases and such – they were too bulky ti carry, and were mounted on their bikes instead. But he could identify a lot of different fear gases from the smell, taste, color, speed of activity and exact effect. And he had specific antidotes to the three easiest to manufacture strains, and a general antitoxin-sedative that did a pretty good job of flushing out poisons and keeping the victim under until they were clean.

He really hoped he didn't have to use that one. They needed to create a new formula, because the antitoxin was only about twenty percent effective these days. Downside of multiple immunities.

He was half a block from the Tower when he brought the bike to a halt. Vaulting off it, he ran, pressing his breath mask to his face and drawing his staff. He passed the police cordon and sprinted into the cloud.

The cloud was mostly pale gray, with a yellow-green tinge. That ruled out the most lethal strain, which was almost blue, and also the least effective strains, which were usually darker gray. Yellow-green indicated hallucinatory compounds. The gases billowed upwards, which while slightly worrying in that the gas could spread, indicated this version was not thick enough to choke anyone unlucky enough to be caught in the smoke.

Red Robin was pretty sure he didn't have a specific antidote for this strain.

Visibility was poor, so Red Robin switched on the nightvision lenses. It was slightly better, but still not great.

Let's see, he had to locate Scarecrow in this damn cloud, incapacitate him, and make sure there were no casualties. If there were, he had to fish them out. Fairly routine. For an Arkhamite, at least.

Red Robin prowled onwards. He couldn't see anything. Nothing _to_ see. No casualties; good. No Scarecrow; bad.

Something came out of the smoke, and Red Robin batted it away with his staff. It hit the ground three feet away and crunched, releasing a new burst of smoke. Red Robin hissed into his mask in irritation, and tapped his nightvision off and back on. The smoke was a deeper green, which was bad. Thicker, for one, and also most likely more potent. Given the circumstances, though, it was probably the same as the rest of the cloud, but more concentrated, not yet as well dispersed.

Red Robin kept up his search pattern. Then…

Another jar of compressed gas flew at him and again he batted it away. A few more in tight succession. Then he saw the shadowy figure charging him. There was a flash of steel – seemed he'd made a syringe glove. Well, they weren't exactly syringes, just made from them. They provided easy access to allow for liquid toxins to get into wounds. Which made the already-potent mixture near lethal.

Deflect, deflect, deflect. Back up, get some space, _not that much, 'nother grenade_ , clouded vision, metal flashing in front of his eyes, _mask slipping_!

He let out a cry as the breath mask slipped, the syringes scraped his cheek, and he automatically sucked in another breath. Quickly he locked his ribcage and put his hand to his face, returning the mask to his mouth. He rammed the staff out, slamming it into Scarecrow. He was already infected, only a little for now, so he might as well cut back on the defensive action.

"Red Robin!"

The yell was followed by a series of coughs. Montoya. Red Robin's eyes widened behind his mask, and he launched himself at the psychotic psychologist. A few vicious hits and Scarecrow was down.

The street warped. Down was sideways and up was left. Red Robin stumbled, almost falling, and concentrated on the feel of pavement beneath his feet. He tried to shift his focus away from his sense of equilibrium and onto what he could feel instead.

Screams. Lots of screams. Familiar. Steph. Bruce. DickBabsCassJasonDamianCassieKonBart. So many voices screaming.

He'd inhaled fear gas. He was delusional. He couldn't be hearing the screams. None of those people could be here. Well, maybe Bruce, but he wouldn't be screaming. No Dick. No Cass. No Jason. No Damian. No Cassie. No Kon. No Bart. Babs and Steph safe at GCPD. Montoya's here. Find her.

Dark shape in the smoke. Looming. Stumbling over. It's her. Rough noise. Coughing. Got to get her clean air. Civilian. Breath mask in her mouth. Pull her. Get her out. Air thick. Coughing. World spinning.

"Oracle?" he slurred. "Need backup. Crane down. Unsecured. Need transport for two back to you. An' get someone to bring my bike down. Not my bike. B's. Hate it."

The voice in his ear crackled, but he couldn't work out what it was saying. His eyes were fogging over. Everything span again. He flicked to controls on his mask lenses. No filter. Infrared. Nightvision. Digital magnification. No filter. Not helping.

Air green. Yellow-green. Gas. Get out of gas. Gas bad. Antitoxin. Antitoxin in kit. Can't get it while dragging Question. Not Question. Montoya. Just Montoya. Air burns in throat. Coughing.

Clean. Air clean. Breathe. Ground. Ground on face. Face on ground. Ground beneath palms. Push. Belt. Buckle. Batarang. Batarang. Smoke grenade. Notebook. Med kit. Open it. Bandages. Serums. Can't read markings. Syringe. No needle. Can't find needle.

"Red Robin, sir? We've been told to take you to the GCPD. Sir? Detective Montoya? Can either of you hear me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Back after the mini-hiatus. Got distracted...Marvel Red Team; Spiderman, Daredevil and Deadpool. Go read. Please?
> 
> Anyway, there's also Jason and the Argonauts, Ultimate Avenging Alliance, and Ultimate Writing Adventure. More soon.
> 
> Please comment and/or kudos.
> 
> Katara


	50. Recovery

**Black and Red Chapter 50 Recovery**

Gordon winced. Red Robin had refused to be taken to the hospital, insisting on being taken back to the GCPD. At least he'd let them take Montoya to ER, after instructing them to inject her with one of his antitoxins straight into her bloodstream. Apparently he'd then fumbled to change the needle, and stabbed himself in the neck with another dose.

He was now very shaky, and had insisted on seeing Babs and the Brown girl. He sounded to almost be in tears.

"So glad you're safe," he slurred. "Screaming, so much screaming."

"Your neck is bleeding," Babs told him, horrified.

"Toxin serum thing," he mumbled. "Best to go in bloodstream. Got weak points, elbow, thigh, can't open 'em up, can't get to the veins, gotta go for the jugular." He let his head drop onto the computer desk, and pressed his hands over his ears. "Why won't the screaming stop?" he whimpered.

Babs was skimming through the files she'd been given. "Tell me the ID of the antitoxin you've taken, so I can look up your notes on it."

Red Robin held up the vial, the muscles in his face rippling as though he was squinting. "Uh…6?"

Babs stared at him. "The serum IDs are four characters long, Rob, I need the rest."

The vial shook in his hand, then Red Robin threw it across the table. "You ID it," he mumbled.

"Right…" Babs murmured. "Sensitivity notes are two months old, you haven't taken this in at least a month so we'll assume it's reasonably accurate, but there's no names attached to these readings."

"Call initials," Red Robin mumbled. "Li'l Bird. Tha's me. Ell Bee."

"LB, gotcha," Babs nodded. "Got it. You're eighty percent immune to this stuff, no wonder it isn't working on you."

"Just make the screaming _stop_ ," Red Robin whimpered. His voice was breaking, his chest spasming with sobs.

"We don't have the antitoxins you use," Gordon grunted. "We can flush your system, but we need to take you to the hospital."

"No, no, not safe," the teen insisted. "I need- I need to pass out. Drunk tank?"

"What about it?" Gordon frowned.

"Is it free?"

"Yes, why?"

Red Robin nodded decisively. "I need to borrow it. Just for the night."

"I can have someone watch you here-" Gordon started.

"No, no, not safe," Red Robin gasped. "Mask. Mole. Not safe."

"So you want to be locked in the drunk tank," Babs confirmed.

"Sedative spray, keep me out for the night," Red Robin muttered. "No mikes, no recording, watch vitals jus' in case. Oracle, you got files, you know what to do if I go crash."

"I can find it, yeah," Babs nodded. She shifted in her seat, the blonde toddler in her lap squirming in her sleep.

Red Robin pulled himself up. He stumbled over to the girls and kissed Babs on the forehead before scooping up Stephanie and cradling her close. "Sleep well, love," he whispered. "No more screaming. You don't need to scream anymore."

Gordon reached over and took the three-year-old away and gave her back to Babs. "Come on, let's get you to the tank, seeing as you won't sleep anywhere else."

Red Robin sagged against him and nodded. "I can see blood everywhere, but that can't be right," he mumbled. "Sky full of exploding planets, but we're inside. Still screaming…"

Gordon took the shaky teen by the arm and led him away. After a few steps, Red Robin's knees buckled, and the police commissioner scooped him up. The teen was cold and shaking, and up close, Gordon could see sweat beading on his forehead. "Please don't die," he whispered. "Don't die, don't leave me, _please don't die_ …"

"No-one's dying," Gordon said gruffly. "Just toxins, okay?"

Red Robin whimpered. "Still hear it," he whispered. "Still see the corpses, smell the blood…"

"Not really there," Gordon reminded him.

"I know, but that doesn't help."

Gordon reached the cells, and jerked his head to get one of the sergeants to follow him. "Which tank's free?" he asked quietly.

"Number three, sir," the sergeant said. "Are we arresting him?"

"Call it extreme protective custody," Gordon sighed. "No-one's to enter without my permission unless he crashes, understand?"

"Yes, sir," the sergeant nodded. He unlocked the cell and held the door for the commissioner.

Gordon entered, and laid Red Robin on the bunk. "Got your spray?"

Rather than answer, Red Robin squirted his sedative spray in his face, and a moment later dropped the can.

Gordon sighed, turned, and left him to sleep.

Strolling back to his office, Gordon could see his Babs starting to droop. "We need to find that mole," he told her. "Any ideas?"

"Let's see…" she mused. "We've got his phone, and presumably his contacts, so we just have to track down everyone he's been receiving messages from." She massaged her forehead. "This is a mess."

"How's the clean-up at Wayne Tower going?" Gordon asked.

"Underway," Babs reported. "Crane's back in custody."

"That's something." Gordon sat on the edge of the desk, and glanced over at where Babs had settled the sleeping toddler. "There's something about that girl, isn't there? Rob wasn't telling me everything about her, but you know what it is."

Babs examined him, an unsettling feeling coming as it was from his own daughter. "He told me things about his home weeks ago, and I managed to put it together," she said, mildly apologetically. "He hadn't anticipated anything like this. He'll probably be back on top of it once he's calmed down and got over the fear gas."

"I hope so," Gordon muttered. "In the meantime, we have to work out what to tell anyone who asks why I put so much trust in a clearly erratic and overly-hormonal teenager."

Babs tilted her head. "Delivering up the mole as a peace offering might help," she said. "Give me an hour; I'll see what I can do."


	51. Missed Morning

**Black and Red Chapter 51 Missed Morning**

Tim's face felt sticky with half-dried sweat, tacky blood and a few smears of mask glue. The polymer strip across his eyes had become dislodged sometime while he slept, but it still covered enough of his face to sufficiently obscure his identity. He pushed himself up, feeling his muscles protest from overuse followed by the side-effects of the toxin that made his muscles spasm from imaginary trauma. He pushed the mask back into position while glancing around for the camera. He found it, and noted that the little green light was indeed off.

He stretched, his joints creaking, then retrieved his fallen can of spray. He got to his feet, and rapped politely on the door. A minute later, the spy-hole slid open.

"You awake at last?" Allen asked, smiling.

"Yeah," Tim replied, rubbing his neck where he'd stuck the needle in his jugular. "What time is it?"

Allen started sliding the bolts back and undoing the locks. "Just gone one in the afternoon." He held the door open, and the young vigilante stepped out. "We weren't sure if we should wake you, but the Commissioner said you were under sedation."

"Well, he was right," Tim muttered under his breath. "Is Montoya…?"

"She's fine," Allen reassured him. "Came to about an hour ago. She's a little shaken up from the experience, but there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage. Your serum really helped."

"First time exposure," Tim shrugged. "No reason why it shouldn't work."

Allen paused outside the locker room. "I can have the boys clear out, give you a bit of privacy to clean up," he offered. "Get that blood off you before you go see the Commissioner's daughter and the blonde kid you pulled in."

Tim paused for the barest second to consider it. He'd been going full tilt, without sleep or a shower for several days, and he was overdue a wash. He could cover the cameras, jam the door, and get himself looking less like the psychopath he might arguably be.

He gave a curt nod, and let his hand drift to his staff in his belt.

* * *

* * *

 

Red Robin felt mostly back on form when he dropped down in one of the chairs by Gordon's desk. There was food, and coffee, and Red Robin had half a cup down his throat before he had much time to think.

"You're looking more alive," Babs commented. She, however, looked more than beat.

"Marginally," Red Robin quipped. "Have you been to bed yet?"

"Dropped off for about an hour round about sunrise," Babs shrugged.

Red Robin examined her. Dark shadows under her eyes and a drooping head. "You need sleep," he told her.

"Yeah, well, we were busy," Babs shrugged. "We identified Mask's mole, an officer Galloway, and have him under surveillance. Dad says he haven't enough to arrest him just yet. And we also have Cluemaster in custody. The cops sent to ambush him got 'im."

"That's great," Red Robin smiled. "I can see what we can get to pin Galloway with. Has Crystal Brown, Cluemaster's wife, been contacted?"

"She's out of state; we couldn't contact her," Babs shrugged. "Stephanie is still in our custody. Mom has her right now."

"Speaking of your mom…" Red Robin started, hoping Babs would pick up the rest of the sentence before he had to say it outright.

She did. "I may have been avoiding her?" Babs replied sheepishly. "I have no idea what to say to her."

"You can't avoid her forever, and the longer you leave her to stew, the worse she'll be," Red Robin told her sternly. He hated the position he'd unintentionally put her in, but it really couldn't be helped now. There was a time for reflection, and the midst of a crisis wasn't that time. Besides, the actions that were damning Babs in her mother's eyes had saved lives.

"I thought you wanted me to sleep," Babs said sulkily.

Red Robin glared. Playing his instructions off against each other was such a childish tactic. "Get some rest, then speak to her."

"And what will you be doing?" Babs asked, slightly accusingly.

"Catching up on what I missed this morning," Red Robin answered. He pulled the computer towards him and started to eat.

"But I can-" Babs started.

"Not if you're too tired to think clearly," Red Robin cut her off.

Babs mumbled inaudibly, but slunk off.

Red Robin refocused, and started running through the Sionis surveillance tapes. Because of the rendezvous with Joker, there wasn't so much to watch, but there were lots of hours to flick through. Mask heard about Cluemaster's arrest, but not that Galloway had been identified. He thought that he'd been successful in wiping his phone before anything incriminating could be retrieved from it.

"Rob Jackson."

Red Robin paused the playback and looked around. He'd known who was coming, but hadn't wanted to give away his skill. "Mrs Gordon."

"Little vigilante boy," she accused. "You have any idea what your kind do to this city?"

"'My kind'? That's really very vague," Red Robin shot back. "Some would count Joker and Scarecrow as 'my kind'."

"If it weren't for the Bat, my family would still be safe!" Mrs Gordon hissed. "You've had my husband doing crazy things at all hours and endangered my children and now you've corrupted my daughter!"

"Barbara chose to help me," Red Robin replied curtly. "Are you denying her the right to make her own choices?"

"She is in my care, so yeah, I can deny her these choices," Mrs Gordon retorted. "And when I find out just what _my husband_ was _thinking_ when he _let you into our lives_ -"

"He's doing what he thinks is best for the city," Red Robin retorted. "I can't exactly speak for why he thinks what he's done is best, but he's trying to protect people. Including you. And your children. And by the way? He didn't know I've been training Barbara until two nights ago. All she's doing for me is back room work. I'm keeping her _safe_."

"And who are you to decide how to keep people safe?!" Mrs Gordon yelled.

Red Robin stared up at her, implacable. He'd faced far scarier things, but knowing how personal this was for Babs made it almost heart-breaking. "I'm the one who told her what to do when Joker came to kill or cripple you and your children," he said calmly. "In the past month, I have dealt with a serial killer, a gang war, and now I'm dealing with some of the most dangerous people in the city. Some of, because I know full well that _I_ am myself one of the most dangerous. And I am telling you that the moment Barbara chose to aid me, her safety became one of my top priorities. I will not let her put herself in danger, and right now, giving her back room work is keeping her from deciding to follow my onto the streets – which I'm sure you agree would not be safe for her. The other alternative would be locking her in one of the cells downstairs, for nothing more than wanting to help out."

"You think you're so right," Mrs Gordon spat.

"I think that any desire I have for a safe, healthy life is inconsequential next to all I can do for others," Red Robin said flatly. "I made that choice when I was younger than Babs, and I will not deny her the right to make the same choice. To do so will only breed resentment."

"Stay away from my daughter," Mrs Gordon commanded, and turned on her heel, and left.


End file.
